Turn of the Tide
by Phantom on a Budget
Summary: After giving Raoul and Christine their freedom and nearly forfeiting his life to the mob, Erik is rescued by an unlikely individual. Danger and snark abound, but can Erik make a triumphant return to the Opera? RC, E. Based on Leroux and Kay.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical. _

**Turn of the Tide**

**Erik:**

The Opera Populaire was buzzing with activity in the evening with auditions conducted for the National Academy of Music. Young men and women from far and wide came to share their gift of song and to earn their place in the ranks. But for some, their gift of song had not yet been delivered. And in many cases I had come to believe it would never be.

I sat in the darkened stalls and observed the proceedings, taking careful notes of each performance. The venerable Madame Giry ushered each hopeful singer on and off. Her silent air of authority always amused me. She was an honorable woman who had balanced the responsibilities of a career and motherhood seemingly without blinking. Giry commanded the ballet corps with a simple touch of her cane to the floor. She had always been a faithful servant of mine, taking care of my needs even if it occasionally meant putting a manager or two in his place. I adored her.

There had been approximately a dozen or so performers thus far, none of which caught my ear. Most were simply mediocre – not entirely without promise, but with little brilliance about them. Some, however, were positively disastrous. It would appear as though they had walked off the street and into the auditorium with no prior experience or forethought into what they were doing. It was painful, utterly painful. I could feel the disappointment welling within, and I occasionally hung my head in utter dismay.

It was then that a young blonde lady strolled onto the grand stage. She was of a slight figure with striking golden hair. Her expression seemed shaken and nervous. Inside I wished that the music would calm her and bring forth her natural beauty. It did not. Much to my horror I recognized the opening of Marguerite's signature jewel song from _Faust_. This was a classic piece, a demanding piece, a piece that I had heard perhaps ten times too often in my life. She was horrific. The notes were strained and originated from her little white throat. I grimaced and shook my head. When she began singing incorrect lyrics I actually threw myself back in my chair and covered my face with whatever paper I happened to have in my hand. I was utterly hopeless. When I glanced at the program listing the performers yet to come, I came to the stark realization that I had not yet consumed enough wine for this.

Afterward Mme. Giry made her way down to me, taking particular note of the mess sprawled about. "Shall there be a respite, Monsieur, or do you wish to continue?"

"If I have to listen to the 'Jewel Song' one more time in my pathetic lifetime, I am going to hang someone," I announced from under my papers.

"Than I shall have to warn the company seeing that there are two more performances from _Faust_ this afternoon." I grabbed the papers away and looked at her grimly.

"Fifteen minutes," I declared as I stood up. "Then perhaps we may find talent and continue." She merely nodded. I bent down to gather the clutter I had created. As she began to walk off I turned suddenly to her. "And I was quite serious about not hearing that song again…"

Mme. Giry stopped and turned back over her shoulder. "You cannot demand that, Erik. They may not have an alternative prepared."

"But I may certainly ask it." I cocked my head and continued looking at her thoughtfully. "If they are truly singers they would have the ability to sight read a piece that we give them."

"I shall ask, Monsieur. But if they protest I shall not push the issue and you will be forced to listen to amateur _Faust _because I refuse to give others an unfair advantage," she asserted. I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Very well," I said, somewhat amused. Giry moved off once more and disappeared stage left. Meanwhile, I finished gathering my things and moved off to Box Five to continue watching in a slightly more peaceful environment, or so I thought. I had not been there five minutes before I was graced with the presence of Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. Splendid. He arrived in the doorway without saying a word, and stood with a rather large document in his hands. I glanced over my left shoulder for a moment, and then turned back to my notes. "You have impeccably poor timing," I muttered.

"I don't suppose you reviewed the proposed budget for next year," he began.

"I have." Clearly this conversation did not enthuse me. Raoul made his way to the seats off to my right and sat down, looking down upon the stage and the utter chaos that was occurring below. He remained there, posed with elbow resting on the balcony for several seconds before turning back to me.

"Thoughts?"

"Positively absurd," I noted with little emotion. I glanced over at Raoul and found him looking at me over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, begging me to elaborate. I sighed and continued. "Unless you hope to convince the entire ballet or chorus to work for free, or perhaps go without regular maintenance to the physical plant for the next two years, I would recommend an amendment to amount proposed," I explained, casually taking notes on the atrocity below us.

Raoul nodded his head and for a moment turned his attention on the stage. "I thought it appeared too good too be true," he said flatly.

"Welcome to the world of opera," I said as I finished another note. "Pay your dues and leave."

Raoul scoffed and tapped the papers against the velvet rail, nodding his head just out of time with the music coming from the pit. He turned over his shoulder suddenly. "Do you have an estimate prepared?" he asked hopefully. I stared back at him incredulously for a moment. I shook my head slightly before scratching down a figure on a scrap of paper and handing it to him. "Take care not to choke," I advised as I watched his expression. For a fraction of a second I thought he had.

"Dare I ask if this is your ideal figure or the bare minimum?" Raoul questioned, still staring at what I had written.

I shrugged. "I call it the 'Erik is a damn genius and expects this for the Opera Populaire to remain a respectable provider of quality entertainment' plan."

Raoul smiled and said, "I quite like it."

"It has a nice ring to it." I suppose I pitied him slightly for his position. Raoul was given sole responsibility of the patronage of the Opera Populaire. It was a daunting task for one of his young age, and I could at the very least offer him some silent credit for not ruining the future of everyone under the roof of this house – yet, anyway. There was still ample time for another catastrophe.

"I see your salary is listed," Raoul noted. I looked over to him and found his eyes still deep within the thick document.

"As it was last year," I said unenthusiastically. My amusement for this subject simply did not exist. I ceased my writing and stared at Raoul. He leaned back in his chair and continued to look on.

"Between you and I," Raoul began as he turned back to me and allowed the budget to fall into his lap. "Moncharmin and Richard do not agree with your figures and are making quite the little fuss."

"Good God," I replied as I threw down my pen. "What figures?"

"All of them. Your salary, in particular."

"Yes well, that is a conversation those two fools will endure soon enough. I will have them accept reality if it kills me," I declared.

Raoul smirked. "You shall have to fill me in on all the gorey details."

"Every last one." It was then that the assault from below ceased and silence filled the auditorium for a moment. I looked down to prepare my next set of notes when the pianist struck some recently familiar chords and I took note. Raoul stood from his seat and stared down at the stage. By the sound of it, our lovely Christine was taking advantage of the break in auditions for a run-through.

"This is her new aria, is it not?" he asked, his tone reminiscent of a young boy expecting sweets.

"It is," I said without looking up. It was a fine song, but in my opinion not nearly as expressive as Christine's voice demanded in order to truly shine. I shook off the thought and continued writing. Raoul remained standing, his gaze transfixed on the young diva below.

"She looks stunning," he murmured. I lowered my pen and looked up thoughtfully, only to find Raoul completely blocking my vision of the stage.

"I would not know. You make a remarkably effective door, Raoul."

"The box is empty, you do not have to sit behind me."

_I beg your pardon?_ How bold he was becoming. My eyes drew to mere slits as I stared at his back. "Or I could simply throw you over the balcony and be rid of the problem entirely," I noted, my tone thoroughly unamused. Raoul turned around and I pointed to his chair. He took it. I smirked behind his back, for I could not tell if it annoyed or amused me that we now regarded each other with a casual, harmless hostility. It was certainly a contradiction in terms, but indeed our association itself was a contraction of sorts.

In the past two years I found I could now tolerate Raoul. He was a gentleman. He was an annoyingly perfect gentleman. Or at least that was how it seemed to the world. It was clear to me that he was not without his own glaring imperfection. The boy had no talent whatsoever for art. It was not as though he could not enjoy it, or support Christine in her art, but he could not truly appreciate it for what it was. I could not imagine my life without the pursuit of perfect art. I knew at this time of my life if I was to choose between having a flawless face or perfect music, I would gladly remain a monster.

The song possessed a fine, but terribly unoriginal melody. Despite its shortcomings, Christine's voice brought the aria to life. Her soft vibrato gave the perfect amount of dimension to the sustain. I leaned back in my chair to take in the delightful sound, making sure not to be overly critical and to simply enjoy the quality. Shortly afterward came the underdeveloped cadenza and then silence. Reluctantly I opened my eyes and glanced over to Raoul, who was starting down at his exquisite wife.

"She is most at home on the stage," he said quietly as Christine lifted her eyes to us and smiled. "She …takes command of it, it is amazing." I did not respond. Poor Raoul, he could never understand. Christine made her way off stage and unfortunately for me, another prospective singer made his way on. Upon hearing his offering the only thing I could manage to do was throw myself back in my chair and press my hands to my temples for fear of my skull exploding.

"Pardon my noticing, but you look poorly," Raoul noted. My hands dropped some and I turned to stare at him.

"You do not know the half of it," I muttered, pressing my hands against my forehead.

"Auditions are less than spectacular?"

"Indeed."

Raoul nodded and turned back to the stage, mustering what appeared to be a grimace at the next performer. He at least knew that the standards for the National Academy of Music were high and the majority of those who tried their luck today would not pass the test. Pity those who had to listen. I gathered my belongings and announced my intention to return to my office. Raoul followed.

I set my notes and pen on my desk and fiddled briefly with stack of papers that managed to invade while Raoul took a seat on the divan. It was not long before the Comtess Christine de Chagny made her way in. Lord knows I shall never become accustomed to referring to her by that name.

"Good afternoon to my two finest gentlemen," she greeted enthusiastically to an unenthusiastic crowd. Raoul was still brooding over the Opera budget and I was still unsure if I would ever recover from the afternoon's disaster. Christine looked from Raoul to me with a sort of concern. "If my singing was that horrific I should like to at least be aware of it," she jested. "Whatever is the matter?"

"The inherent joys of conducting business in entertainment," Raoul started. He flashed the thick stack of papers that made up the budget and I simply stood there, silent. She placed a hand on Raoul's shoulder and gave a loving squeeze, then turned to me with concern.

"And what is the cause of your pallor, Monsieur?" she asked.

"Disfigurement."

"Erik…"

"Auditions."

"Ahh…" she muttered with a grim understanding. I could feel Christine looking me up and down as she would often do out of concern. "Perhaps you should lie down or take some dinner."

"I am quite alright, thank you."

"Posh," she said, completely unimpressed by my insistence. Christine made her way to the divan and sat beside Raoul while I took my seat behind my chair and pondered the mess inhabiting my desktop.

"You look positively inundated, my friend," mocked a familiar voice. I knew exactly who it was without glancing up for confirmation. Nadir. Terrific.

Christine, never one to disappointment, was quick to make my evening even more enjoyable. "Monsieur Kahn, do you not think that Erik appears ill?"

Nadir looked between the two of us, thoroughly enjoying himself. "What, you mean more than usual?" he asked.

"In the name of Christ's church!" I exclaimed.

Nadir smiled an annoying smile. "I think the lady has an excellent point, my friend."

"Nadir I think it would be in your best interest to find a new hobby," I declared. He moved to speak, but I cut him off. "One that preferably does not involve me."

"And how can I do that? Everything involves you!" Nadir jested. Something about poking fun at me put him in a jolly good mood.

Raoul thankfully interrupted our discussion. "Dinner this evening, am I correct?" he asked. Christine was the first to confirm, followed directly by Nadir.

"Dinner?" I inquired, unaware of plans for the evening.

"Yes, a meal that is often eaten during the evening hours," Christine explained, obviously having a bit of fun herself. As it were, they had planned a casual dinner to close out a busy week of activities. I was inclined to say no and retreat into the confines of my living quarters, but I knew I would never hear the end of it. I accepted the invitation, and soon enough they all left to prepare for the meal.

As I sat alone, I thought to myself how strangely odd it was that we all conversed as normal human beings. All my life I had never considered myself so, but in this company I was beginning to take comfort in this interaction. It seemed amazing to me how I had managed to come into favor of the Comte de Chagny, his wife, and the whole – whole, of course, being used loosely in this instance - of the Paris Opera. Two years ago it would have been unspeakable, perhaps even laughable. It may seem odd to you, as well, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies. To best understand this story, I think perhaps it would be most productive to start at the beginning of the end.

_**Author's Notes:**_

_Thank you for reading! I greatly appreciate any comments you would care to give me, and I take constructive criticism very seriously. Have thoughts on the characters? Please read and review! Future chapters will shortly follow._


	2. Beginning of the End

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical. _

**Turn of the Tide**

"Beginning of the End"

It was not long after I had sent Christine and her Vicomte away that the presence of the angry mob was being felt in my home. Nadir stood by me like a faithful hound waiting to lead his despairing master from the imminent danger. I sat on the divan, my mask discarded on the floor and my head in my hands as I relived the last moments in Christine's presence. I had never known such bliss in my existence, and was surely to never experience it again. I had come so close to Heaven, tasted Paradise, and yet I let it slip through my fingers.

_It would have been a damned lie_, I told myself repeatedly as I allowed the tears to flow down my sunken cheeks. _She would have been living a lie!_ I could only repeat this to myself while I tangled my fingers in my hair. Even through my insane ramblings Nadir watched, waiting for me to come to my senses. I would not. How could I? The madness of the evening was dragging me down into the vast wasteland of hell like I had done before to trespassers on my lake. Only this time, the siren was no illusion. Christine was real; she stood in my home and kissed my unmasked face and showed me no fear. I was officially a wreck, much to my and Nadir's misfortune.

Naturally, I had impeccable timing to allow my mind to take leave. The warning alarm in my house was ringing annoyingly loud and time itself was running short. Still, there I sat like a deaf idiot, rocking back and forth in my misery. Nadir, ever the patient bitch of a dog he could be, had finally had enough.

"Erik, they approach. We must leave at once my friend, or face a hundred enemies!" he declared, spreading his arms wide to gather my attention. At that time an angry mob sounded like a dashing good time.

Nadir was growing more impatient with every passing second. "You cannot forfeit your life to them Erik." _Life? No, thank you._ He knelt before me so I could not avoid his stare. "You did the right thing, my friend. You were honorable in letting her go, she had no life here with you. But you must look to yourself now, Erik! I did not save your life so many years ago to simply throw it at the feat of a crazed pack of wolves. You must come with me, now."

I believe I was still lost somewhere between "did the right thing" and "she had no life here with you" when Nadir grabbed me by the collar and dragged me off the divan. Before I knew it he had me pinned on the floor. "What in the devil do you think you are doing!" I roared.

Nadir held fast. "Is this what you want?" he demanded at the top of his voice. "To be held down and beaten until you have no sense about you, then to have them drag you up top to put you on display? Is that what you want!" I could only stare dumbly at Nadir. His eyes were afire and his voice rang of urgency through heavy breaths. I shook my head. I could no longer take the thought of public exposure and humiliation. Nadir knew I would rather die.

He paused before releasing me of his surprisingly strong grasp. I got up from the floor, having agreed to follow him out of the Opera to his flat. Before we left, I slowly bent down to retrieve my mask and placed it once more on my face. With the mob only yards away from the protective walls of my home, Nadir and I retreated. The only thought I was capable of at that moment was that the mask felt so cold on my cheek.  
Christine did not feel that cold…

Upward we traveled, Nadir for once leading me rather than the other way around. I looked, but I did not see. I heard, but I could not listen. My senses were turned upside down and I could only follow the dark figure before me like an obedient child. It had never occurred to me that my state would put me at risk, though perhaps it should have. I was not capable of thought at that time – one could have told me that La Carlotta was God's gift to music and I most likely would have agreed. Sickening, that.

As Nadir and I traveled through some narrow corridors towards the Rue Scribe exit, we were not aware of those behind us. Blindly I followed my Persian friend through the dark, devoid of all feeling and emotion. Only when three men in rather dirty clothing leapt out in front of us did I begin to care about our situation. Nadir and I came to an abrupt halt and began to turn around when I met up with a butt-end of a rifle that did not agree particularly well with my face.

Backward I fell and my head met the stone with devastating force as three brutes descended upon me. The bastards kicked me several times and I daresay one brandished a club of some sort – a crude weapon that only left an incomplete mess in its wake. I vaguely remember Nadir shouting something as he was dragged off back toward where we had come. My captors tied my hands behind my back and wrenched my arms so badly I felt as if they had stabbed me in the shoulders. This was not going particularly well.

"We have him!" they cried. How idiots such as these could survive in every day society I would never know. It all seemed terribly unfair. I scoffed at their absurd display, the conquering heroes of nothing but a man with a broken heart. Like three of the same mind they all turned to me. "The only thing funny I see here is a _freak_," one decreed. Clearly, sir, you had not looked in a mirror recently either. Or bathed, for that matter. My mouth twitched in a sarcastic grin. "What in the hell do you think you're grinnin' at?" the short, round one demanded. I leaned forward against the two holding me back and smiled defiantly at him and said, "You."

That was apparently terribly rude of me. No surprise there, naturally. My tongue can be as offensive as my face and I take no shame in that most times. However, it seems that mocking stupid, illiterate men with rifles only gets one into trouble.

I woke several hours later with a throbbing headache that threatened to tear my skull apart. What's worse was that I hadn't been drinking. Absently I reached up to my face with my right hand and was quite disturbed at what I did not find. No mask. But I did find a great deal of blood from a wound on my forehead, trickling down my face and neck, and soaking my collar. I sighed and allowed my hand to fall against the cold stone floor.

I admit I did not expect lavish furnishings, but I was also far from prepared from the reality I was now thrust into. My eyes shot open and I lay there for several minutes attempting to keep my breathing as normal as possible. I then closed my eyes and tried to remove myself mentally from the mire I found myself in. _Please God, no…_I repeated silently. I did not even need to turn around to see the bars that imprisoned me – I could see them perfectly well in my mind.

Immediately the old claustrophobic sensation came over me and my throat tightened. I covered my face with my hands, wishing away the crushing force that was surrounding me. Memories that I had long thought dead had come rushing back to me, strangling me with their weight. I could not bear it!

How quickly one can lose all composure. I lay there, still on the outside, but screaming inwardly. In the confines of the cell I was rendered completely useless – if man wanted a weapon to control me with, cold iron bars were torturously effective. I could not breathe, think, or even turn to confirm their presence.

"Of all the things, Monsieur, not a cell," implored a voice in the adjoining room. I knew that voice. Nadir had come and appeared to be pleading my case. "In God's name why not?" asked another man, who was obviously taking my dear friend for a fool. There was a long pause, and when Nadir spoke, his words were like ice: "You could not possibly understand."

Indeed not. One could not truly appreciate the horrors of confinement until it first controlled your life and then destroyed it.

I reached out my right hand until I felt the wall and kept my left hand to cover my eyes. It seemed like an eternity of silence before I heard a welcome voice. "Erik," Nadir called from the other side of the bars. "Allah…Erik, _Erik_! How are you faring?" Splendidly. The accommodations are quite cozy, the view spectacular, and I daresay the free wine tasting was an especially nice touch. I groaned.

"He will be held here until sentencing," muttered another. The odor of cigars was overwhelming and his voice suffered for it.

"How soon will that be?" asked a third. I very nearly dashed my head against the floor. Why in God's name was le Vicomte de Chagny here?

"Long enough." The gendarme left, and there was a pause before de Chagny spoke once more. "Christine wishes to speak with you, Monsieur. As much as I would care to forbid it, she will not be silenced on the issue." I made no attempt to acknowledge his words and remained still. He and Nadir must have exchanged glances behind my back.

"Erik, did you hear Monsieur le Vicomte?" asked Nadir, concerned. I absently waived my right hand.

"What did you do to him?" de Chagny demanded of the gendarmes on duty. "We did nothing, Monsieur," they defended. "He has hardly moved to face front."

Nadir muttered something in Persian as de Chagny turned once more to my cell. "I know why you do not face the bars, Monsieur," he began. Fuck you, I thought. Useless dandies such as yourself have no possible grasp on suffering. He continued, "I shall bring Mademoiselle Daae by tomorrow evening for only a moment. The gendarmes will escort you out of the cell to see her and you will be on best behavior or there will be Hell to pay, by God."

His words meant nothing to me. I was already in Hell.

All the following day it was a non-stop parade of curious stares and malicious comments. I sat patiently on the cot facing the opposite wall, the horror of my face turned away from prying eyes and away from the bars that wanted to plunge a thousand daggers into what was left of my soul. Gendarmes watched me intently, mocking my capture and adding their terribly unoriginal insults. Nadir spent several hours pacing up and down the hall between my own special place in Hell and the commander's office, shooting menacing glances at those attempting to provoke me.

I'm sure Nadir was astounded by my quiet façade. I was not the only target to the cruel jokes, however.

"What kind of man associates himself with a monster?" mocked one Gendarme, painfully devoid of any real occupation. "How loyal you are to the fiend," noted another. "They must be lovers! What, is sodomy a choice pastime where you come from? Is 'it' even a man?" they asked, poking at Nadir. He simply stood there without even blinking at the remarks that made my blood boil. Before he was forcefully removed from the building, he sat solemnly on the outside of my cell, alone, hanging his head. "Go home, friend," I muttered in Persian. "There is nothing more you can do here."

"I've done nothing. They will no longer hear me, Erik."

"That is to be expected."

"I fear what they will do to you and what they have already done," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

I finally sat up and looked at him, forcing myself to see past the bars. "None of this has been your fault. Their justice contains no more suffering than I have placed upon others. Go home, Nadir. And thank you."

He looked at me with an expression somewhere between pity and grief. "I will not abandon you now."

Moments later he was dragged away, cursing in his Persian tongue. It was now dark outside and the building was dead quiet. I expected Christine and the Vicomte's arrival soon, but was unaware of the actual time. My mind was still quite blank due to the blows to my head and the despairing atmosphere surrounding me, and it was several moments before I noticed the four gendarmes outside my cell. Two had removed their uniform coats and were in their shirtsleeves. They were joined by two plain clothed men who looked vaguely familiar to those to I had encountered below the Opera. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach, and I knew this had nothing to do with Christine's visit.

Splendid. Because, of course, there was nothing I loved more than another group of angry men wanting nothing more than to tear me apart. I was rather thankful they left the pitchforks and torches home, though. Best not to fall into a typical stereotype when it can be avoided.

They dragged me from the cell with a blindfold, a knife to my throat, and rifle trained on me. The smell of liquor stung; I could have easily overtaken them under normal circumstances given my talent as a cold, efficient murderer, but nothing else was in my favor that night. I was concussed, managing a broken rib and what's more, I was without my trusted Punjab lasso or any weapon whatsoever. This evening was going especially badly.

They took me to the side alley, which was dark and wet with the recent rain storm. I was struck once more in the back of the head and forced to my knees. The bastards removed the blindfold and I found myself in the middle of a circle of six mean, each itching to have a shot at the Opera Ghost. How delightful. I sneered.

They took their turns mocking me once more, focusing their time on my disfigurement and no, I suppose it was mainly on that. It was then I decided that the human race needs to invent some fresh insults. All were annoying, but one in particular angered me to a dangerous level. He should have known to keep his mouth quiet, for provoking one such as myself has proven ill for the health of many men.

"You, we should sell you to the circus, that is what we should do!" shouted the fat gendarme. "Put you in the freak show where you belong!" He seemed genuinely thrilled with himself over this last statement, completely unaware that my patience had run out. A swift calm came over me and quickly I made my move. In one blink of an eye I had found my feet and snapped the pig's neck, allowing him to fall to the ground like a worthless sack of dirt.

For a moment the others stood in horror, unbelieving of the lethality of my movement. Two descended upon me and I daresay I killed another by breaking his neck without thinking. As I turned to address the other, I felt an overcoming, sharp sensation in my right side. It was the stinging feeling of a knife, both hot and cold at the same time, and uniquely familiar to me. I leaned into him and we went back against the alley wall. I cringed, pulled the dagger from my ribs and plunged it into his throat.

Two of the men had fled like dogs from the alley, leaving one staring dumbfounded at the scene of death before him. He looked at me wide-eyed, fear dripping from his expression as he raised his pistol. I retrieved the dagger and threw it deftly at him, but unfortunately he got a shot off as I threw. As my target fell to the ground, knife protruding ominously from his back, I was struck in the right shoulder and fell back against the wall.

I stood there for several seconds against the wall, my left hand pressed against my wounded shoulder and the knife wound stinging horribly. I could feel the hot rush of blood down my skin as it soaked my fine clothing. I knew I had to find refuge somewhere. Immediately I thought of Nadir's flat, but it was across the city there was no possible way I could manage to travel that far. I did not trust the false darkness of the alley and so I began moving toward the place I had called home for so many years – the Opera.

_**Author's Notes:**_

_Uh oh. I hope everyone loves a good wounded!Erik, because pain and suffering always equals a good time..._

**geckogirl - **_I saw your review of the Prologue and would just like to address a couple of notes. Don't worry, I'm not offended, but do take a closer look at the first chapter. Read a bit more carefully, the language can be tricky. It does not, at any time, switch from the first person. It is a very descriptive look from Erik's POV. You'll note there was a mention at the top of the chapter stating it was Erik speaking, and that never changed. Thank you for your comments and have fun at camp!_

_Thank you again for reading. Please read/review and let me know what you think!_


	3. A Fitting End

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical. _

**Turn of the Tide**

"A Fitting End"

My years studying human anatomy and experience as killer told me that my wounds were serious. I moved away from the scene outside the jail like a wounded animal retreating into its burrow. The entrance to the Rue Scribe was not far from where I began, and I hobbled toward it in hopes of finding solitude.

The injury to my side was growing ever more disagreeable, and the concussion of my pained step on my shoulder was excruciating. Every step was more difficult the last, every breath became a struggle. The knife wound was deep, and each breath of air I drew it expanded my ribcage and thus reopened the wound. I doubted my ability to carry on much further between the indescribable pain and increasing loss of blood.

To my dismay and relief I made it to the Rue Scribe entrance. I was not more than 50 feet in, however, when the dreadful realization occurred to me – my home was no longer safe. It was most likely destroyed and most definitely located, leaving me with no place to go. I feared my last moments on this horrid world would be in the dark depths of nothingness.

I despaired. I sank to my knees against the dank wall, wishing the pain to ease so I could breathe. My energy was draining faster than I had expected. I had not eaten anything that day and I was purely exhausted from the wounds and my flight from the jail. With no destination and no companion, I felt myself beginning to give in. I allowed myself to sink further and fall against the stone walkway. I gazed out into the blackness.

I had lost Christine. I had lost my Opera. I no longer had my music, and I no longer had any reason to live. I could not bear to think of life without my music, and I could not bear to think of my music without Christine. It was a circle of torture that I was caught up in, and the disconcerting part was that I could no longer care.

For years I had longed for death, and several times it had nearly taken me. But whenever it came near, I was always called back. Who would call me back now? Nadir was surely in his flat plotting his next appeal to the judicial system, and the Vicomte had taken Christine away. No, I was alone with no one to stand between me and eternal darkness. I imagined how Christine would sound if she were there, speaking my name with her glorious voice. It would dance off her tongue and float past her lips if she were here…

"Erik…" I could hear it now. Such a wonderful sound it was.

"You." I knew I was not terribly coherent, but I certainly knew that was not Christine's voice.

I opened my eyes and my heart began to race even more. I picked myself up on my left elbow and turned back toward the entrance of the Rue Scribe. Christine's precious Vicomte. I cursed under my ragged breath. A sharp pain from my ribs reminded me of my condition and my head dropped.

"No…" I muttered. I did not want anyone to see me like this. The bleeding still continued and I was growing increasingly weaker. I dragged myself slowly up on one knee and threw my left shoulder into the wall for support. Raoul de Chagny stood facing me, stiff as a statue.

"Go!" I snapped, conversation becoming increasingly more difficult for me to manage. "Go far away from me…"

"I will not," he declared. _Damn you infernal boy!_ I wanted to crush his wretched throat in my hands, but I could do nothing but curse him silently.

I pressed my arm harder against my side and drew another shallow breath. "Come to watch the monster die, did you? What, no admission at the door?"

I sank further against the wall as the Vicomte spoke. "In the alley…Who instigated it?" he demanded. I shook my head. I do not go looking for fun by killing others, you twit. I moved to say something in my defense, but was lacking the strength. I did not want to have this conversation and decided to retreat further into the darkness, away from prying eyes and pity.

Suddenly I looked up at him, anger pulsing through my veins. The events of the evening seemed to culminate at once – had he anything to do with my assault? Was Christine's "visit" a simple ploy to entice me to cooperate with a plan that would ultimately end in my death or humiliation?

Hindsight tells me that the boy was simply not capable of that sort of malicious plotting. But there in the darkness, fighting the effects of a concussion and two devastating wounds, the character of my rival did not register in my mind. "Your…brutes did a fine job, I should say. Pity for them…I possess an exquisite talent in this field," I spat. De Chagny was silent for a moment, then took a step toward me.

"You think _I _am responsible for this?" the Vicomte demanded. Someone fetch the boy a prize.

"I could not expect a _gentleman_. …such as yourself to put a lady in danger for the…the sake of a monster. What, you thought you would have an easier go of it if I thought that _she _would be present? How, exactly, did you intend to explain my hideous carcass come the investigation, pray tell?" I sneered. "Did you …intend on blaming the wretches you had hired and leave them out to dry?"

All at once my body began to falter. The pain caught me off guard and took my focus away from verbal warfare and placed it once more on my deteriorating condition. I hung my head for a moment, willing the pain to subside if only for a moment. I was suddenly too tired for anything more. "I have no need to speak to you," I sputtered between breaths. "Get out before I am forced to do something rather…rash."

Raoul paused while he stared at me, then instinctively placed a hand on his pistol. "What do you intend, sir?" he asked.

_To bleed on you,_ I hissed under my breath. I shifted painfully against the wall and attempted to stand as he watched with critical eyes. I was nearly up when I lost my footing on the damp stone. My right leg slipped out from under me and I came crashing down on the unforgiving walkway. I could not breathe – I could not move. The wounds in my side and shoulder were ripping me apart.

The searing pain was entirely unbearable. My jaw clenched as the tension coursed through my body. Every muscle was drawn tight, which only hastened my increasing exhaustion and discomfort. I rolled further onto my left, and as I brought my left arm up to press against my ribs, I wanted to bury my face into the stone. I had forgotten that I was being watched – my vision now only went as far as the blinding pain. As I drew another shallow, agonized breath, I felt a light touch on my right shoulder. In my delusion I thought it to be Christine, and I moved to turn back toward her. But the movement sent me into another fit of anguish. It was as if the knife and bullet had buried themselves once more, twisting and digging until I was writhing in agony. I slammed my head back on the walkway and drew another difficult breath in an attempt to calm myself.

"Easy…" I heard. I opened my eyes in horror – the voice and hand upon my shoulder belonged to the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. I shuddered as I realized he was now kneeling behind me, surveying the damage. I wanted to move away and retreat further into the darkness, but I could only press my face more against the freezing stone.

My wounded shoulder in particular could not cope in that position as it felt as if my entire arm were hanging by a thread. I dare not move for fear of another assault on my tortured frame, and wished then for de Chagny to leave me to my death. No, I had not wanted to die alone in the darkness, but I would have much preferred it to _his_ presence. It was a final mockery of my existence, a stinging reminder that in then end, I had lost to shallow perfection.

I expected mocking words from the Vicomte. Even in my condition I could hear his rehearsed monologue of sorts, damning me for my involvement with Christine and proving once more that good always triumphs over evil. I envisioned his immaculate, innocent façade reveling in my defeat, and half-expected a swift kick to the ribs. Lord knows I had earned it.

But I was to be disappointed. His tone was quiet, nearly calming. I was so taken back by his demeanor, it nearly brought be back to life. Perhaps I should have been more concerned for myself at that moment, but in all honesty, why? I knew that if he intended ill, I would not live long enough to endure it. I no longer feared being dragged before a crowd and exposed like the monstrosity I was. If I was to die there quietly, in the company of my rival, than so be it.

It was not long before I was rendered utterly senseless from the shock. I felt my body failing me. As I awaited the end, I vaguely realized that I was muttering what I believed to be a requiem mass – which was absurd, of course, as I was not dead. But lying there, delusional from blood loss and intolerable pain, I doubt I was thinking very clearly.

In my stupor my past revisited me. The events of my life briefly flashed before me as a final reminder of the idiocy of it all. I heard my mother in a fit; dear Marie's kind words, the few I had experienced in my lonely childhood; I heard and saw the crowds that gathered outside my cage; I heard the Khanum's wretched cries; I saw Nadir's face after placing his dead child in his arms; I relived everything up to my time at the Opera.

I wished beyond all wishes that my time would end with a memory of Christine. I wanted to experience her triumph again, feel the exhilaration as the audience flew to its feet; but only blackness came. I did not see what I had hoped for. All that came to me was a vision of my beautiful Angel weeping in despair. I heard voices around me, but was no longer able to distinguish them. I liked to think, though, that one of them was Christine…

Soon enough the world itself and the agony I had been enduring became a second concern for me. Exhaustion had taken control of me. I still felt de Chagny's hand upon my arm, but I was far more interested in the darkness that surrounded me. It did not feel nearly as cold as it had before. Death, it seemed, was like a warm embrace. My description of the whole saga sounds somewhat like an overly dramatic novel of sorts, but upon reflection, perhaps it was a fitting ending for the Opera Ghost.

_**Author's Notes:**_

_A **huge** thank you to all who have reviewed! What great feedback you guys have given. I very much appreciate it._

Queen Ame – _while I like to remain true to Leroux canon, I can't. So I envision Erik in this instance as he appears in the ALW stage musical with the half mask and usual, impeccable evening dress. I love a guy in tails._

Lindaleriel – _we are long-lost twins! I looked over your profile as well and damn! Nice to meet you, I'm Lindsey. Aubrey-Maturin? Do you doubt my LOVE of Patrick O'Brian? Master and Commander is sitting right here, and says hello. :-D My small library of literature on fighting sail also says "what up?" My masterpiece is "Broadsides," a Commodore Norrington fic in the POTC fandom. Let us run away and revel in POTC, POTO, and Jack Aubrey-ness!_

_Thank you for the kind words and encouragement – the interaction between Erik, Christine, and Raoul always fascinated me. Particularly Erik/Raoul interaction (and I do NOT mean slash. I stay far, far away from E/R pairings). Perhaps the most exciting part about writing is getting a chance to look deep into a character – what makes them tick. What are they feeling? Why? That's the part I love the most, and it makes me feel good to know I'm accomplishing my goal. _

Solecito – _Thank you for the comparison to Susan Kay, what an honor! And you are correct. I believe she did write that under difference "circumstances" the relationship would have been different._

_Once again, thanks to my readers! I'd love to hear more from you._


	4. Into the Darkness

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical._

**Turn of the Tide: Into the Darkness**

_**Raoul:**_

The hours after Christine and I retreated from the cellars of the Opera Populaire were a whirlwind of emotions. Her selflessness in the matter was astounding to me – I thought for certain I was to die under the Opera at the hands of that crazed fiend, but Christine's brave actions saved us both. I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of pride toward her and great anticipation of our future together.

It did not immediately trouble me what might happen to Erik. I realized a horde of angry men and armed police were making their way toward his home, and I hoped that with their wrath all the madness of the preceding months would come to an end. I wished it more than anything for Christine's sake. I could no longer bear to see her troubled by this burden.

When I received word that they had succeeded in detaining Erik, I was unsure of what to do. I dare not allow Christine to hear the news for fear of her making an attempt to see him, which I simply could not allow. I would not see her drawn in once more under his spell. And so I kept it secret until the carrying voice of one of my servants betrayed my wishes. Christine entered the parlor and demanded to know why she was not told of his capture. I explained that I thought it to be in her best interests, which she did not seem to agree with.

"I am not a damned child, Raoul!" she exclaimed, her voice speaking of betrayal.

"Christine please," I began soothingly. "I did not want you troubled over the matter. I cannot stand to see you undone by this wicked man. I only wanted to protect you, is all."

"You are not protecting me; if information such as this is kept from me, you are practically holding me hostage and no better than _he_ was," she said flatly. My brow furrowed in disapproval.

"I would never on my life do anything against your best interests, Christine," I retorted. "You've been through so much the last few hours and are exhausted. Please, allow me to escort you to your room." She crossed her arms and looked away coldly. Wrong answer, I presume. I paused for a moment to reorganize my approach. "What will you have me do?"

Christine turned to look at me directly. "Allow me to see him, Raoul. Once, is all I ask."

To my utter dismay I agreed. I suppose I was rather hoping that the impenetrability of the cell and the numerous armed gendarmes would offer me some comfort. They had, until Christine demanded that she see him outside the cell. I very nearly choked on my biscuit.

I ordered my barouche and made my way to the jail, where I found the mysterious Persian once more. The daroga was sitting inside looking beaten and dejected. Upon seeing me, he rose to his feet offered a greeting and a stiff bow. He asked why I had come and I told him as his features grew increasingly whiter. "It is not wise, Monsieur, for either of their sakes" he advised. I nodded, not particularly caring at that moment what was in _Erik's_ best interest.

"None of this has been 'wise,'" I noted. I looked up to the thick stonewall that separated us from where the monster inevitably lay. "What is his condition?"

The Persian began describing what had occurred after I led Christine away. I only nodded at his mention, more concerned now with simply getting my message across to Erik so that I may go home. The Persian and I were led in and found Erik lying motionless. All attempts to gain his attention failed and I demanded to know what had transpired. "We did nothing, Monsieur," they defended. "He has hardly moved to face front."

It suddenly occurred to me why. The Persian had demanded that Erik be taken out, much to the amusement of the gendarmes in the room. I remembered what I had been told about Erik's past. "I know why you do not face the bars, Monsieur," I said, trying to attract his attention. I then delivered my message with an authority that dared not be trifled with, or so I thought. Afterwards I bid the Persian goodnight and returned home, where I informed Christine that all had been arranged. She seemed to rest easier.

All the next day I was cursing myself for allowing this charade to occur. I wanted to call it all off, and paced up and down in my study reasoning why this was a terrible idea. I spent a great deal of time at Christine's side as we ate, walked, and sat together. I wanted to be there as much as possible to support her during this time, as her world had been turned upside down.

Overshadowed by the events, and weighing increasingly on my mind, was the disappearance of my brother, Philippe. I had not seen him since my hasty departure from our box that evening, and I feared that in the chaos he had come to harm. Despite my increasing apprehension over his whereabouts, I could not leave Christine. She was more vulnerable now than ever, susceptible not only to a madman that haunted her, but herself. Her mind had been warped so badly that I was greatly concerned for her thoughts. I allowed myself to believe that Philippe had retired to our residence in the heart of Paris, while I kept Christine safely hidden on our estate outside the city.

That night I once again ordered my barouche and Christine and I set off. It was a dark, damp evening that suited my mood well enough. The rain had passed on, but left the streets wet and the air smelling of dampness. I took Christine's hand in mine and gazed at her as we made our way. When we arrived at the jail I could immediately tell something was horribly awry.

The building was quiet. Lights were on as if someone was there, but the establishment was deserted. Though it was a small jail compared to others in the city, I expected to at least see one person – I had arranged for numerous to be there for this! Where on earth were they? Fearing the monster's escape, I asked Christine to stay close as I drew my pistol. She gasped.

"What are you doing!" she whispered, eyes wide. "What is going on?"

"I do not know, Christine," I said, moving cautiously. "Stay close, please." We found no one in the guardhouse, and no prisoner. I was mortified at the situation and I feared Christine was in extreme danger. I moved immediately to return to the barouche and notify the authorities, but I had not made it halfway before I felt a strong tug on my hand. I turned to find Christine staring into a darkened alley and trying to move toward it. I came to her side and saw as she did – four bodies scattered in the alley, the closest one lying face down with a knife protruding from his back.

"God in Heaven," I whispered, completely taken by the scene before me. To my surprise, Christine was moving into the alley before I could drag her back. I ran after her and as I took her wrist she wheeled around on me, grasping a pocket watch covered in blood. I looked at her and shook my head in confusion. "Christine, I don't understand…"

"It's his!" Christine exclaimed. My stomach turned to lead. "He must be injured Raoul, this was not lying near anyone, so where did the blood come from?" she demanded, angry tears beginning to show themselves. "You shall hate me for this, but we must find him." I looked at her in horror, but knew she was not to be persuaded otherwise.

"Christine I could never hate you," I began, cupping her cheek with my right hand. "But we must return home, and I will organize men from there." She lifted her eyes to mine and raised the watch up.

"Erik does not have that time, don't you see?" she pleaded. Too bad for Erik, I insisted to myself. As far as I was concerned the wretch could drag himself to the end of the earth and be done with it, but the look in Christine's eyes said otherwise. I turned away from the horrific scene and gritted my teeth before turning back to her.

"Very well. But you must return and request men to meet me at the Rue Scribe entrance of the Opera," I declared. Christine began to protest, but I raised a hand to my mouth, pleading her not to say another word. "Please Christine. I will find him, but I cannot have you in danger. God help us both if this is another illusion of his…"

"It is no illusion," she whispered, looking once more at the watch. Christine then turned her eyes up to mine. "You will not harm him."

I stared down at her, knowing what she asked of me. "You have my word, Christine. No harm will come to him by my hand." Assuming, of course, that he did not intend to end my life. I saw Christine to my barouche, checked it thoroughly for potential intruders and instructed the driver to make haste and stop for no one. My journey into the darkness began. The events that would transpire would inevitably be a turning of the tide.

**_Author's Notes:_**

_My goal with Raoul is to portray him in a positive light. While this may be lacking some in this chapter, the upcoming accounts of the Vicomte hopefully will lend a more honorable, sophisticated development of the character. The last thing I want is to encourage the age-old "FOP!" criticisms. I truly feel there is far more to the character than money and fine things. Stay tuned for what Raoul discovers._

Stellalorelai – _such wonderful comments! Thank you, I enjoy writing Erik and hope I do him justice._

And to those who reviewed - I cannot thank you guys enough! The reviews are lovely and keep me pushing forward with this fic. All the compliments mean a great deal to me! I would love to hear any comments you may have, positive or negative. Thank you again!


	5. From the Darkness

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical._

**Turn of the Tide: From the Darkness**

_Raoul:_

And so I was off to the Rue Scribe, where Christine guessed Erik was likely to go. My stomach was now a lead weight. I had my pistol at the ready as we approached the entrance. The air was getting colder as I entered, and it was not long before I discovered what I was looking for.

A figure was sprawled on the stone. The white cuffs of his shirtsleeves shown in the darkness. I thought perhaps he was already dead, as it was several moments before he reacted to my presence. Violently Erik dragged himself up to face me and I thought about my pistol.

"Go!" he snapped. "Go far away from me…"

"I will not."

Erik paused. "Come to watch the monster die, did you? What, no admission at the door?"

"In the alley …Who instigated it?" I demanded. He looked up at me, and I feared a certain fire that shown in his eyes. Praise the darkness that separated us. He seemed to be pondering something, or gathering strength.

"Your…brutes did a fine job, I should say," Erik began with ragged breath. "Pity for them…I possess an exquisite talent in this field." The bastard. The monstrous bastard! How dare he implicate me in this mess! I took a brazen step forward.

"You think _I _am responsible for this?" I demanded.

"I could not expect a _gentleman_. …such as yourself to put a lady in danger for the…the sake of a monster. What, you thought you would have an easier go of it if I thought that _she _would be present? How, exactly, did you intend to explain my hideous carcass come the investigation, pray tell?" he sneered. "Did you …intend on blaming the wretches you had hired and leave them out to dry?" I was fit to strike the wretch, but it was then that Erik shifted away. "I have no need to speak to you," he sputtered between breaths. "Get out before I am forced to do something rather…rash."

I instinctively placed a hand on my pistol. "What do you intend, sir?" Erik paused once more before moving to stand up. I drew my pistol then and held it as I watched him struggle. I thought he was about to retreat into the darkness when he collapsed suddenly onto the stone, wracked of breath. Suddenly the situation took a turn.

I raised my lantern and began making my way to the fallen Phantom.

As I approached, it became quite clear to me that Erik no longer posed an imminent threat to either of me. His collapse was that of sheer exhaustion, and I wondered exactly how long it had been since he had been injured. He made no attempt to move as I drew closer, and indeed seemed to be completely unaware of my proximity. Even so, I refused to let my guard down, and slowly made my way to his side. I set the lantern down as I crouched beside the monster, with my right hand still on my pistol ready to fire.

I was still in shock of the sight of his face and found myself unable to take my eyes off it, remembering the horrible events of the day before. Most likely I would have continued to stare at Erik's distorted features uninhibited if he had not lifted his left arm up to his side. Instinctively I shifted away from him and raised my pistol, but it quickly became evident that it was no danger; merely a weak attempt to cope with the injury. Setting my pistol by my side out of his reach, I forcefully reminded myself of my immediate purpose and raised my lantern above him. In the dark I had not realized how much he was bleeding. His black evening clothes hid damage well – only when I held the lantern close could I see the growing crimson soaking the top of his tailcoat, waistcoat, and halfway down his trousers.

It was difficult for me to exactly place the location of the wound at first, but I soon discovered that the drunkards had managed to stab him in the right ribcage, and had shot him in the right shoulder. My service in the Navy had given me plenty of exposure to injuries of this nature. Swords, dirks, daggers, and firearms were faithful companions of any sailor, and I had seen many men suffer from their wrath. I, too, had my own relatively insignificant encounters with an enemy's dirk and had the scars to prove it.

I knew that abdominal wounds were excruciating and slow to bleed. I had heard of many men with deep wounds to the area, but few of them I knew lived through them. My Naval career was young, but I had been involved in more than a few boardings and could never forget the screams and moans of poor the wretches lying on the deck, waiting for the cold injustice to finally take them from this world. Oftentimes they would be thrashing about or lying crumpled against the bulkhead amidst a sea of blood with the steel still protruding from their flesh.

I cringed at the thought. I had wondered what sort of harm could possibly be inflicted to reduce this seemingly supernatural being to a trembling wreck before my eyes, and now I knew. Erik was surprisingly quiet for the extent of the wounds. Having thought about it, I realized he must have lost the will to continue. His command over the Opera Populaire was finished; his empire was destroyed and he no longer had what made him powerful. I watched as Christine's angel fell. After all the good and fear he had inspired and created within the walls of the Opera, he was nothing but a man – a man dying an undignified death.

And yet, there he was – the Opera Ghost - completely unable to defend himself. I thought briefly how easy it would have been to end this disastrous saga then, with one, quick shot. That was all it would take. Christine would be free and his torment would be over.

But I could not bring myself to do it. I gave my word to the woman I loved, and I would not go against it.

I watched as Erik lay there in front of me, struggling for breath. He must have been in pure agony, for he never once addressed the presence of his sworn rival beside him. This was a death I would wish upon no enemy of mine. I wanted to hate him as I had hated him before – I wanted him dead for what he put Christine through and the lives he claimed. But not like this. I could tell he was slowly bleeding out and suffocating; every muscle in his body was tense and it was rapidly draining him of any strength and resolve he had left. He was dying, but I could take no satisfaction from his suffering.

Tentatively I reached out to Erik. The small space between us seemed like a great chasm that threatened to swallow me up. Lightly I placed my hand on his shoulder, being careful not to touch the gunshot wound. It was as if I was touching a true ghost – for a fleeting moment I could not believe he was real. I leaned over him slightly to see if there was any other bleeding. I felt Erik turn his head up toward me. The movement must have aggravated something, as his head collapsed back onto the stone and body stiffened as he struggled painfully for air. "Easy," I told him softly, keeping an eye on his side. Erik must have realized then that his enemy was kneeling beside him. When he made no attempt to move away from me I realized how far gone he truly was.

He was giving up, allowing his fate to fall into my hands. It saddened me some, to be perfectly frank.

I looked upon Erik with pity, and remembered what Madame Giry and the Persian had told me about his past. I thought it tragic and barbaric that society could be so cruel, and felt sorry for the life I had imagined he lived. But whether or not he should have been considered a monster for his appearance, he had become more than a monster through his actions.

I could not fathom how he could have hoped to gain anyone's affection - not simply for his face, but what he had done. I decided, through hours of contemplation in my study days before, that I could understand his need to protect himself throughout his life. I was a man of a dangerous occupation and knew that from time to time, ensuring one's survival meant taking another's life. I was willing to accept that fact on the basis of common sense.

However – taking an innocent young woman hostage and holding her against her will? This was the doing of a madman! And that was not simply it. How close we all came to going up in a ball of fire and hell with the massive stores of gunpowder Erik had stored in the bowels of the Opera Populaire! How close the Persian and I had come to horrific deaths…Those injured in the chandelier fall and following stampede for the doors would have to live with that for the rest of their lives. Christine would have to cope with these events and the emotional torment for many years to come. For that, I hated Erik with a vehemence that shook me.

I sat there hating him and pitying him silently for several minutes, watching him draw slow, shallow breaths. I hung my head and tapped my gloves on my knee. It seemed at that moment that Erik was not long from this earth, and I half-heartedly considered it a blessing. The possibility of what he _could have been_ hovered in my mind.

It was then I heard movement outside on the Rue Scribe. I reached for my pistol and held it near as footsteps approached. I made out the dark figures of two men – my men. Christine had sent them to assist me. I would have been perfectly accepting of the situation if that were the end of it. But to my own surprise I heard the delicate steps of a lady directly behind the men. It was Christine.

When she saw Erik struggling, Christine began her slow approach toward us, one little white hand covering her mouth, the other pressed firmly to her middle. It was damp and cold, so I immediately removed my coat and placed it over Erik as Christine knelt by his head. "Erik! Oh my God, my God…" she whispered, the tears rolling silently down her cheeks. "I never wanted any of this to happen."

Together we remained at Erik's side as the minutes passed. I watched Christine for what seemed like an eternity, and realizing the weight of the event, allowed my eyes to turn away. I remember hearing Erik murmur something that was nearly inaudible – it resembled a rhythm, but his exhaustion did not allow his voice above a faint, incoherent whisper. Shaking my head, I directed one of my men to fetch my physician and have him meet us at my estate. Directly afterwards, I instructed him to find the daroga, whom I believed to be somewhere along the Rue de Rivoli. I turned back to find Christine still kneeling by Erik's head, leaning over him and staring at the amassing blood. Her hand hovered over his shoulder as if she was unsure of touching him.

Right then Erik stopped breathing. Christine withdrew her hand and turned back to me, horror written across her expression. Our eyes met for a moment before I searched Erik's left wrist for a pulse. I could not immediately find one, and when I looked at his wrist I was shocked to find it covered with scars. I could feel myself cringe at the sight, and Christine sat back on her heels as she watched me, shaking her head slowly. Several times I tried to find a pulse, all to no avail.

He was gone.

Christine covered her mouth and sat there, staring upwards. She did not weep, but a lone tear trickled down her cheek and it appeared as though she was unable to take her hand from her mouth, for fear of losing her very last vestige of sanity. I flew to her and took her in my arms, praying to God that I may help her feel easier about the situation. "He was gravely injured, Christine, it was his time," I managed, doubting the effectiveness of my words.

"Please, God…not both of them! Why!" she sobbed into my chest. I pondered her words. Both of them? Surely she meant her father, Gustav. It then occurred to me that he and Erik shared the same role in Christine's life – they inspired her music and gave her voice life. I closed my eyes and buried my face in Christine's hair as I held her. Singing was her life, all she knew how to do. When she had no family, she had her music. When she did not have her father, she had Erik. He taught her to sing and live in her father's absence, and the reason for her huge success. I knew then how connected they were, and it pained me.

As much anguish it caused me to think back to the relationship between Christine and Erik, I could not deny it. This Angel of hers had died in front of her, a mere man cut down by the hands of other men. As hideous as Erik was, the scene was that much more horrific as he lay there, positively drenched in his own blood, still as the night that enveloped us all.

I was preparing to get up and help Christine back to the carriage when I heard something faint, like a hushed breath. My head shot back to Erik, and heard it again. Christine looked up suddenly and I leaned back over him to check for a pulse. To my astonishment he was alive – I must have missed it before! His breathing was ever so shallow, and so I told my spare man to assist me in bringing Erik to the barouche. I looked to Christine reassuringly, and she looked back with both confusion and relief radiating from her eyes. I helped my love up from the cold ground and she followed as we carried Erik from the darkness into the soft, artificial light of the Rue Scribe.

**_Author's Notes:_**

_Thanks once again for the reviews and compliments. Please keep hitting that review button! Thoughts on this chapter? Comments? Questions? I'd love to hear them all. _


	6. The Poor Wretch

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical._

**Turn of the Tide:**

Raoul:

Our arrival to my estate was thankfully shrouded in darkness. We hastily unloaded Erik from my barouche and took him to what I prayed was the most secluded room in the establishment.

The ride from the Opera drew my nerves tight. I kept a sharp eye both on Christine and the wounded, bleeding mass at her feet. In the dark I could not tell if Erik was still losing blood at the rate he had been – I long wondered how he was alive at all given the extent of the damage. Thankfully, he was unconscious for the extent of the journey. I say "thankfully" because to endure the jostling of a carriage flying over stone streets at a brisk canter would have been utterly unbearable.

Not long after we exited my barouche, my physician, Doctor Renee De Lorme, arrived as well. I could tell by his face he was quite put out by my apparent state of good health and was about to inquire into the reason for his presence when we stepped into the light and he noticed the blood stains on my clothing.

"My God man, what the devil happened to you?" he demanded, putting a hand on my right arm.

"It is not mine," I started, assuring him that I was indeed perfectly well. "Renee, I have an odd favor to ask of you, my friend. I regret to say that it requires the utmost discretion…" Together we made our way in and up the stairs with Christine following Erik's lifeless body just in front of us. After the men placed Erik on the bed and retreated from the room – under direct orders not to speak a word of this to anyone – the doctor was no longer able to hide his reaction.

"Mary, mother of God," he whispered. His face was utterly pale and contorted in disgust at the dreadful scene before him, and I could not tell what was more horrific – Erik's face or his bleeding, beaten figure. "Raoul what occurred here?" asked quietly.

As I paused to reflect, I glanced to Christine. She was looking at me with a stern, pleading sort of look that begged me not to reveal the truth. I drew a hesitant breath, then turned back to my physician. "The poor wretch was attacked by thieves, so it seems. They ran off when they saw us approaching, I daresay he was quite lucky." I hated lying. It felt like a hot brand upon my soul. But that night it was a mark I was willing to bear for woman I would give my life to.

Renee nodded. After a brief moment of weakness he snapped to and gave his orders. "I will need towels, bandages, any supplies you can muster. We must remove the clothing to assess the damage. Mademoiselle, perhaps it would be best if you were not here to witness this," Renee suggested as he began stripping Erik of his tailcoat.

Christine shot a look at Renee and then at me, as if she were debating what to say. "I shall retrieve what you need and will return." When Christine left I made my way to Renee's side to assist in whatever way I could. When we had finally relieved Erik of his tailcoat, waistcoat, and shirt, we discovered more than the two wounds we were expecting.

Quickly the two of us applied pressure to his side and shoulder, both of which were bleeding significantly, but we were utterly taken back by the scarred frame before us. Old scars were scattered across Erik's chest and ribs – most of them appeared as whip marks or something of that nature. There was a sinking feeling in my gut as I knew he had not been born with such features. As much as I would have liked to hold onto it, my hatred for this man was quickly dissipating.

Renee saw through the charade as I feared he would. After cleaning and dressing the knife wound, he began work on Erik's shoulder and finally spoke quietly to Christine and I. "I'm quite happy to be of service to you, Raoul, and to Mademoiselle Daaé as well, but I can no longer pretend to hide my suspicion." Renee turned to look over his shoulder at the two of us. "This is not an unfortunate victim of a random attack, of that I am certain."

"And how are you so certain, Monsieur?" I demanded.

"If this truly was a random incident, you would have brought the man to a hospital or ordered for Gendarmes. You are a bright boy, Raoul, but you are a horrific liar. You would not have warned me to use great discretion; you would not have brought him to your home let alone wandered to the far corners of seclusion for me to treat him," Renee noted as he continued working.

"He is an acquaintance of mine," Christine explained suddenly, looking up to the doctor steadily.

"I see," Renee said as he paused and stared at Erik. "Might I ask what happened to his face? These do not appear to be wounds."

"He was born that way," she admitted, her voice just above a whisper. Renee only nodded and turned back to his work.

"And thus the need for my discretion."

"Yes."

Still Renee seemed unconvinced. He became very quiet as he worked to slow the bleeding and clean the wound. "I must inquire after the true cause of these wounds, Raoul. It would ease my mind some I must say," said Renee. I nodded and assured him that yes, Erik had indeed been attacked by armed men. I merely avoided the part about the mob and the entire saga of the Opera House. I was doing quite well with this revised truth until Renee asked how we had come across him in the first place.

"Raoul and I were on our way to visit him," Christine interrupted, thankfully saving me from complete humiliation. "I wanted to assure him that after the …recent events at the Opera that I was quite well and safe. He worries about me greatly, you see."

"How long have you known this man, Mademoiselle?" Renee inquired. He was obviously not completely taken with the story we were offering. News by now about the strange occurrences at the Opera Populaire had circled Paris.

Christine stiffened in her chair. "That is none of your concern, Monsieur."

"He is her voice instructor," I interjected, seeing an opportunity to smooth things over. "Christine has been seeing him for quite some time now. He was recommended through her late father as a tutor. This man has been developing Christine's voice for the Paris stage." A believable explanation. I prayed my words would not bring Christine more pain in an already emotional moment. Instead, she was quiet and reserved, sitting beside me looking on.

Shortly afterward there was a knock upon the door. I stepped aside and opened it just enough to see the Persian standing on the other side looking utterly run-down and worried. "Monsieur le Vicomte," he greeted flatly. "I was told to make haste."

"Indeed," I responded. There was nowhere to tell Monsieur Khan what had transpired without alerting either my household staff or my physician to the truth. Quickly I ushered him into an adjoining room and closed the door. I spoke swiftly and quietly. "I was to bring Christine to visit our Ghost this evening at the jail, but we discovered several men dead out in the alley. By the looks of it they removed this Erik from his cell and he managed to get away," I described, the disgust of the moment returning to me. "I tracked him down and found him gravely wounded, lying just inside the Rue Scribe entrance of the Opera. I thought he had died…I was mistaken. I sent a man for you and we brought him here. My physician is attending to him as we speak."

The Persian was solemn as he turned away from me, casually stroking his moustache. He suddenly turned back to me. "How badly is he wounded?" he asked.

"Gunshot wound to the shoulder and a deep knife wound to his side. Great loss of blood and he had a very difficult time breathing. You must understand that we are playing my physician false. He does not know of Erik's true identity."

"And it must stay that way," declared the Persian.

I nodded in agreement. "As of now he believes Erik is simply Christine's tutor – an innocent hermit who was caught in an unfortunate circumstance." The Persian glanced back at me with ice in his eyes.

"If only you knew."

The two of us returned to the room and stood at the foot of the bed watching Renee work. By the looks of it the bleeding had slowed to a mere trickle, but Erik's breaths were still ragged and disturbingly shallow. The prognosis was not favorable. Renee explained as he continued to work over the deathly frame lying on the bed. "Mademoiselle, I am afraid I must be the bearer of unwelcome news," he began slowly. "This man's condition has deteriorated so quickly that any treatment I offer may only be a moot point. He is terribly weak from blood loss and utterly exhausted. The wound on his side managed to miss his liver, but I fear there may be internal bleeding as well. Good news at this moment is that the bleeding has slowed, but I fear the damage is irreversible."

I looked down to the floor, emotions of a broad spectrum hitting me at the same moment. "Plainly spoken, Renee, please," I muttered.

"I am very sorry to say I doubt he will last the night my boy."

Immediately my eyes turned to Christine, who was sitting beside me with her hands folded in her lap. Her knuckles were pure white and to my shock, her face showed nothing. She merely stared ahead, focused intently ahead on whatever it was before her that she was afraid to look away from. The Persian, too, was motionless. While I admit I felt some sort of relief at the news, I could not deny my pity for Christine and this mysterious man who had known Erik for more than a monster.

Renee turned back to his bag and continued, "All we may manage is to pray. It is a waiting game now. Though this," he pointed to the gunshot wound. "This is particularly devastating. If by some miracle of God this man recovers, I should sincerely doubt he would regain much use of this shoulder. If he manages to survive, the wound in his side may heal well enough, but I suspect this shoulder wound would be troublesome. The bullet came so near to destroying a vessel that the man would have bled out before you could have laid a hand of assistance on him. I fear it may have damaged nerves and other structures; I considered amputation, to be true. But, like I said: a moot point if he cannot pull through."

"Enough," I said quietly. "Doctor is there anything I can do for you?"

Renee shook his head. "No my boy. I will return home to fetch more supplies and come back straight away to monitor him for the remainder of the night." I thanked Renee and saw him to the door. When I returned, I found the Persian sitting beside the bed and Christine staring out the window into the night. The silence was as if Death itself had taken residence in the room.

I walked up behind Christine and gently took her arms in support. The moon was now visible through the scattering cloud cover. Its soft light illuminated the courtyard below and the various stone figurines taking residence in the garden. The moon seemed to highlight everything in a soft glow, and in its light I saw the quiet tears streaming down Christine's face. I brushed one away and she turned to me and whispered, "Thank you."

Together we left the room and retreated to the parlor downstairs for a moment's respite. I helped Christine to her seat and then proceeded to fetch some tea for her.

"I cannot thank you enough, Raoul, for all that you are doing," she said quietly as she stared into the fire.

I shook my head. "Think nothing of it Christine. Please." I returned to her with her tea and offered it to her.

Christine looked as if she were trying to smile. "I do not know what to say besides 'thank you.' I feel as if I have a world to tell but cannot find the words." As gracefully as I could manage, I took a seat beside her placed an arm around her shoulders.

"You do not need to say anything for now," I soothed. "The last several days have been a sea of emotions, and then this evening…please try not to think of it." Christine sipped the hot drink before covering her mouth with her hand as she fought back more emotions. I took the tea from her and placed it on the table before us; as I did so, she began to weep. I had been worried for the past two days that she was not properly venting her emotions. God knows I had run the gamut of feeling myself, and could not possibly imagine what she was coping with. I hoped that Christine would feel comfortable enough in my presence to weep or rage. Thankfully this evening she was allowing it to come to the surface. She went on for several minutes as such before calm set in. I held her closely, and as I did so, I said, "Whenever you need to say anything, I shall always be here for you."

Christine slowly drew herself away from me, her expression looking more relieved and at ease. "I do not know what I feel," she began. "He is truly dying, is he not?" Slowly I nodded. Christine merely looked away for a moment and nodded once. I could see fresh tears welling in her eyes. "He is magical, Raoul, he truly is. All we have done together was all my father wished for me."

"Your father wished for you to be happy," I reminded her.

"Yes. And when my voice was raised in that auditorium and I sung as Erik taught me, my soul was soaring, Raoul. It was a magnificent feeling," she declared, a warm smile spreading across her features as she recalled her triumph. "He is the one behind my voice, not my father. I can no longer deny that. It feels as if I am losing my father all over again."

"He is not your father, you cannot allow that to weigh on you as his death did."

"No, Erik is not my father, Raoul. No one could ever replace Father. But in ways," Christine paused. "Erik is so much more. I only wish for once, somehow, he could be shown true beauty on this earth," she muttered.

"He has been. You showed him, Christine."

She flashed a tired smile and let it fade from her face. "I wish things were different."

Her words twisted within me. They suggested the one thing I feared most – that I did not possess Christine's heart. I hoped beyond all hope that was not the case, but I knew no matter what, that I would want to be close to her in whatever way she allowed. I swallowed my pride and mustered my courage before quietly declaring, "If I am only to be a friend to you, than that is what I shall be."

"No," she said with conviction, edging closer to me and placing to fingers on my lips. "I have been long confused about many things, Raoul, but of this I am certain: I love you."

_**Author's Notes: **_

Once again, I love you guys so much for reviewing and letting me know what you think. It really keeps me going, hopefully the following chapters will continue with the quality!

_Thank you for the response to Raoul's characterization. I am trying to represent him so that you, the reader (whether a fan of the character or no) may appreciate him genuinely. Here's hoping it works. ;-)_

_Thanks very much for the encouragement! You're the best!_


	7. A Shot in the Dark

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical._

**Turn of the Tide:**

Raoul:

The rest of the evening was spent with an air of sad suspense hanging in the air. While I did not weep for the one that lay dying, my heart grieved to think of what Christine must have been feeling. On the outside she appeared composed at times, while other moments she looked utterly torn between confusion and despair. Her love for this _man_ was not the sort of love she shared for me, but it weighed heavily on her heart.

The Persian, too, received my sympathy. The entire night he remained there at the bedside, carefully eyeing Doctor De Lorme's movements and watching the figure on the bed for any reaction. Erik simply lay there, still struggling quietly for breath. Renee worked diligently, and the Persian assisted in whatever needed to be done. The bleeding had stopped, but irrevocably the damage had been done. I waited patiently for the end to come.

Much to everyone's surprise, though less so the Persian's, Erik managed to survive the night. By now Renee looked nearly as worn and ragged as Erik did, no wonder. When I entered the room in the morning carrying a tray of tea for the poor man, I found him sitting to the left of the bed, his cravat hanging untied about his neck and his fingers buried in his silver hair.

"God knows how, but he lives," Renee muttered, thoroughly exhausted.

"So I see, though you do not appear much better," I noted. I prepared a cup and offered it to his trembling hand, then turned back to pour my own. "Have you managed any sleep?"

"None," he began after he took a sip of the hot liquid. "I lost a pulse in the early morning hours and was quite certain that was the end. But as you can see, he's managed to keep me up since then."

I scoffed. "Yes well, he has a habit of doing that to others."

"I am beginning to resent him for it," joked Renee. "Do you know the man well, Raoul?"

Slowly I sipped my tea and carefully pondered my response. "Erik? I cannot say that I know him well at all. Why do you ask?"

"You seem the epitome of composure in this situation, I questioned your attachment to the man, is all."

"One could say that Erik and I have been at odds with each other for some time," I admitted.

"Over the young lady?" inquired Renee. Why did I not see his ridiculous interests in my affairs coming? Hadn't the man a hobby?

I drew a slow breath and answered. "At one time, yes I suppose so."

Renee tilted his head slightly in curiosity. "No longer then?"

Inwardly I smiled. "I am quite confident in that state of affairs now."

"Such ambiguity from a man of your age. You shall have nothing left when you get older." Not long after, Renee left to return home and attend to another patient. He assured us of his return and that Erik's condition was not likely to change while he was away. I returned to the room and once again found the Persian, Nadir Khan, at the bedside. Slowly, I closed the door behind me and leaned against the wall in silence.

"I had thought it to be over this morning," he muttered.

"Your friend seems quite content to lead us all on," I said quietly.

"Friend…" Nadir whispered, a small smile flickering on his features. "Yes, I would think at times he would beg to differ with that."

I shifted against the wall and crossed my arms. I was curious about the relationship between these two mysterious characters. "How do you know him, Monsieur Khan?"

Nadir looked up from the bed and seemed to contemplate for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with both a fondness and a sort of quiet horror. "He was under my protection as the Shah's daroga," he began. "I was sent across a continent to retrieve this man for the Shah-in-Shah. Rumors of his magical talents had spread far and wide Monsieur…Do not look so surprised, Monsieur! Erik spent the majority of his life abroad, making a reputation for himself as an artist, architect…"

"Magician," I interjected.

"Of course. He was in the service of the Shah for several years entertaining in a variety of instances…" the Persian paused. "His most amazing accomplishment by far was the design and construction of the most magnificent palace Persia had ever seen. 'Genius' simply cannot adequately describe it."

"This seems to be a reoccurring notion with him."

"Rightfully so. I suppose one could say I was officially his bodyguard, but I should like to think that I managed to befriend him at some point. He was of some great _assistance_ to what was left of my family during his stay…I curse and hail him for it every day," Nadir trailed off sadly. He paused once more in my silence before continuing on.

"Erik possesses more talents than you may possibly fathom. In all our years of hesitant friendship I still could only scratch the surface. He could have held the world in his hands, Monsieur, but even the most basic rights in life were denied to him." I said nothing in response. Nadir seemed to sense my thoughts and paused for a moment.

"He was not born a monster, Monsieur le Vicomte. The world made him into one."

I lowered my eyes to the floor. My pity for Erik was undeniable to me now. It pained me some to think of what he could have accomplished had he been "normal," but even with a perfect face the man would never be normal. If he was truly as extraordinary as other had said, he must have been troubled. He was troubled! The human mind cannot cope with such abilities without its shortcomings, of this I was sure. At this time I had not heard more than a fraction of his tragic past, though I could leave a good majority of it up to conjecture, especially with the evidence his body bore. But I steadfastly stood by my convictions. The man murdered others, whether by necessity or some perverted pleasure. I could not quite discern where my pity ended and my hatred began.

The Persian kindly refused my offer of tea, and I silently retreated from the room. The house was doused in silence, so it seemed. As I passed down the hall toward the more lively areas, I could not help but notice the curious stares of the household staff. I could feel their eyes boring into the back of me. I shoved my hands into my pockets and continued walking.

Later that morning I took Christine to see Mamma Valérius. Our departure was delayed some as one of the geldings in my usual two-horse team was acting oddly in harness. When he began displaying signs of colic by pawing restlessly and looking several times at his aching abdomen, the hands unhitched the two black geldings and returned them to the stable. They then returned with my grey team, and we were off.

Mamma Valérius was eased to see Christine well and I assured the sweet old woman that she was no longer in danger. Naturally she insisted that never was Christine in any danger with her Angel of Music. I merely allowed her the beliefs that she had lived so long on and turned my attention to Christine. She was putting on a good show of composure for her guardian despite the drama that had been occurring in her life. If it is even possible, my respect and love for her grew exponentially over the past several days in light of her bravery.

I left Christine with Mamma Valérius for the majority of the day, as Christine felt that it would be important to return to a sense of normalcy. I suspected she would return with me that afternoon to return to my home as she still had clothes and whatnot in her room there, but I would not protest should she decided to once again stay with her guardian.

After I left the two together I proceeded to visit our residence in the heart of Paris. For two days now I had heard nothing from Philippe and worried terribly about his health. While I hoped he had merely taken ill at neglected to send word to me, I feared the worst. I unlocked the door and as I removed my hat, I made my way up the stairs. The house appeared deserted save the small staff. I searched for Philippe in his quarters, the parlor, the library, everywhere I could think of. None of the house staff had seen nor heard from him. Frustrated and confused, I swung around and dashed my hat against my knee.

Philippe and I were close. He took it upon himself to raise me, and as a young man he did admirably. I worshiped him as a brother and in many ways idolized him growing up. When I took my commission in the Navy, he was enthusiastic and supportive, where most fathers were expectant and unforgiving. Though we had been at great odds over Christine, I still felt that underneath the façade of the Comte, he was in favor of our love. His well being meant the world to me.

For an hour or so I paced the streets of Paris with my head down, deep in thought. I ran through every possible scenario to explain Philippe's absence, but none quite seemed to fit. He had no business ventures planned, and would most certainly never leave unexpectedly on a trip without informing me, especially after the events at the Opera. Eventually I forced myself to stop and gaze through the glass at the various shops lining the streets. I took a casual interest in the jewelry store and finally the quaint little music shop.

It occurred to me that my piano – mine only that it resided in the same house as I; I possessed no talent for the thing – was most likely in desperate need of servicing. I had never bothered to touch it, and Philippe was not the musical sort either. Mother at one time played, and I daresay we bought the instrument to remember her by. Unfortunately for us, neither of us possessed the skill to make it into anything else than a picture shelf.

As I stood there on the street side peering through the window of the music shop, it suddenly – and most randomly – occurred to me: Erik was never able to do something so simple. I found that terribly sad. I shook my head before returning to gather Christine and return home.

Two more days passed uneventfully, with little development with Erik or word from Philippe. The authorities had long been aware of my brother's absence and assured me they were doing all in their power to find him. Meanwhile, Erik was still alive despite wearing Doctor De Lorme's nerves to oblivion and practically sending him to the mortuary himself. Erik's breathing, at least, seemed much more even and less labored, and I wondered if perhaps he was actually beginning to recover. To be perfectly honest, I was unsure how I felt about such a notion.

The hours passed slowly. Whether I was upstairs monitoring Erik with Nadir and Christine, or downstairs in my parlor, I could not escape the ticking clock. Desperately I needed to escape from the uncertainty, but I dare not leave Christine. More than anything I wanted to see Philippe walk through the door unscathed, demanding to know why I had made such a fuss over his absence.

It was late one evening when I finally received news. Christine and I dined, and retreated to the sitting room for a short time before we planned to check once again upstairs. We had been reading together for a short time before my valet showed in one of the Inspectors. At his suggestion I took a seat next to Christine as he informed me of Philippe's disappearance.

Philippe had been found dead in the cellars of the Opera. Nearly every other word out of the Inspector's mouth was inaudible to me as I tried to process the horrific news. Just that evening they had been coming the cellars of the Opera as a routine inspection following Erik's capture and came across the body. His body had been positively identified by his valet and they requested my identification for confirmation. Christine took my arm and held fast. A rush of emotions came to me and I felt as if I were drowning.

Quickly enough we made our way and identified my brother's body. They said he had drowned in the underground lake – my feelings easily suggested the culprit. Rage boiled within me at the thought that I was housing my brother's murderer under my own roof. My grief and Christine's strong grasp were the only things keeping me from betraying Erik's identity and whereabouts to the authorities at that moment.

We returned home and I spent what seemed like forever in front of the fireplace, staring aimlessly into the flames. I vaguely remember throwing myself onto the sofa and collapsing forward with sobs. Christine's arms were wrapped around my shoulders and I thanked God in Heaven that she was there with me that evening. The moments were a blur and lack detail, though I am sure of what I was feeling later.

Christine had dozed off on the sofa next to me, and once she was asleep I gingerly made my way up the stairs, utterly stricken with grief and anger. From my room I removed my pistol and loaded it before making my way down the quiet corridor leading to where the monster lay.

The Persian was in the adjoining room. Consumed by my loss, and convinced that Erik was to blame, I turned the knob and opened his door. I did not know if I wanted to shoot him or merely beat the mess out of him, but looking back it was quite possibly the stupidest decision I had ever made.

This was confirmed when I opened the door and turned toward his bed. I had not made more than three steps into the room when I felt a crushing pressure on my throat and was thrown backward.

_Erik!_

In four days the man had gone from death to deadly force. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I fought for my breath, I was able to focus on him. He wore a mask once more, undoubtedly brought by the Persian, and held me fast against him with his left hand. Initially panicked, I clawed at his arm, but was unable to snake from his grasp. My pistol became useless to me, and he snatched it away.

"You murderous…_bastard_," I spat as I struggled against him. "You will hang. I will see you hang for Philippe!"

"That," Erik began thoughtfully, "was _not_ my doing, dear Vicomte." I could not believe him. I struggled even more at his impertinence. His grip somehow managed to tighten and I began to feel weak. "You think _I_ did this? You ignorant wretch! What would I gain from destroying your brother?"

"To wipe my name from the earth…" I declared with contempt.

"I did not kill the Comte de Chagny," he said as I struggled once more. "The more you fight the more I shall take pleasure in crushing your wretched throat. Now I suggest you listen and listen well. I had nothing invested in your brother, he meant nothing to me. Did he have a head wound? Did he? Contrary to what you may _believe_ about me, I do not kill for sport. I would not want to kill him, much like I am not going to kill you now." Erik's grip softened just enough for me to draw a sustaining breath. He then threw me to the side and after I fell, I turned just in time to see him sink to the floor, holding his right arm against his side.

And there we both sat, crumpled and broken on the floor, gasping for breath. We were both silent for a time. I was about to stand when I looked in horror to see Erik casually studying my loaded pistol. I froze as I stared at him, waiting for his next move. He merely sat there against the wall, wounded right arm still pressed against his wounded right side as he gazed at the weapon.

"I have been conscious periodically over the past day or so," Erik muttered. "Nadir told me about Comte Philippe after you had left to identify him." His voice had lost the threatening edge it possessed just seconds before, and to my shock was now genuinely soft and remorseful. He paused and looked over the gun once more before placing it on the floor and sliding it to me. He followed the gun with his eyes and muttered, "I am sorry about your brother."

I sat there, dumbfounded at his words. We remained there, sitting silently in the dark, two men broken in spirit.

**_Author's Notes:_**

Pertie _– Thank you very much for the lovely comments. I'm an Erik girl through-and-through, but I respect Raoul and always think of it as R/C. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE a good E/C fic, but in my mind's eye I believe Christine made the right decision (trying to think of it logically) by choosing Raoul. Plus, this leaves Erik open for me. ;)_

_Thanks again to everyone who is reviewing, I love it! _


	8. Screams

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical. _

**Turn of the Tide: Screams**

_Raoul_:

I was utterly unable to speak after the confrontation with Erik. We remained sitting there, staring warily at each other for a time. He was exhausted from his injuries and undoubtedly in a great deal of pain, while I – I was shattered by another sort of pain.

I was not unaccustomed to loss. My parents died when I was a young man, leaving my brother to look after me. Losing family at such a vulnerable age was difficult to manage indeed, but my choice of profession itself provided more exposure to death and trying times than most would care to think about. Life on the sea was full of treasures. But with every treasure came a trial, and it was not uncommon to lose a trusted friend in battle. My naval career, compared to others, was still quite young with only nine or so years. I accepted my commission when I turned 18 years of age, and spent the majority of my career aboard a 32-gun frigate named _Riene_. A small, agile ship-of-the-line, she at one time saw many skirmishes and had her own scars to bear.

I lost many crewmates aboard that vessel. While few of the exchanges were anything notable, it only took one man to perish to send the whole lot into mourning. A small gunship such _Riene _only possessed a hundred men or so, and thus the crew was close either through friendship or mere acquaintance. I made it my effort to be a respected officer amongst the crew, and so I learned to cope with the loss of friends, whether fellow officers or seamen. The looks on the faces of the crew when we committed a friend to the sea would be forever etched in my memory.

That evening, as Erik and I sat there in the silent darkness licking our wounds, as it were, I found it strangely easy to believe him. My rage had been quickly replaced by grief, and I sank against the wall, my face pressed to my hands. Poor Philippe.

What I had long feared had become truth. My brother had died a horrible death in the darkest, loneliest place I could think of. The wretchedness of the situation made my stomach turn. While I wanted to blame Erik, I knew I could not. Sense told me that had the man been guilty, he'd have long since killed me as well and fled. Instead, Erik sat there calmly without making a move.

Suddenly I heard a large thud as Erik dashed his left fist against the wall. I looked up and found him hanging his head looking especially tense. He drew a slow breath and held it for a moment, and I suspected that he must be in some intolerable pain.

Moments later Nadir rushed into the room, his necktie hanging loosely from his neck and his wrinkled shirt tucked untidily into his trousers. He wore a horrified expression on his face and stopped as soon as he stepped in the door to look repeatedly from Erik to me. Erik was still crumpled closest to Nadir and was holding his shoulder as if it were about to fall off, and I appeared as if I just had the life throttled out of me. Which, of course, took no acting on my part.

The Persian was speechless for several moments as he tried to take in the scene. "What on earth has happened here?" he demanded in his heavily accented French.

"Having a damn tea party, Nadir, what does it look like we are doing?" Erik spat. Despite what had just occurred and my grieved state of mind, I found myself quite amused at his annoyed humor. Having only ever thought of Erik as the Opera Ghost and Christine's Angel of Doom, I cannot say I ever expected a sharp wit.

"Allah," Nadir whispered as he stepped quickly toward us. He seemed to be assuring himself that I had not come to harm before turning his attention to Erik. "The two of you look wretched," he muttered with a tinge of disgust.

"And you look as radiant as ever, dearest," Erik mocked.

Nadir fixed his eyes on Erik and scoffed. "I should have known you were in poor condition. You always become intolerably boorish when you're ill."

Erik made what appeared to be a grimace before he retorted. "Yes well, I suppose I have my injuries to thank for that. I was actually about to lose consciousness…again…when you burst in and_ lit up my life_." He gave a sarcastic smile that quickly fled from his expression. I slowly came to my feet and assured Nadir that nothing of consequence had occurred. Moments of silenced passed between the three of us as Erik slowly sank further against the wall. I lit the nearest lantern and came to find that what was visible of Erik's face as white as the mask he wore.

Nadir knelt by his side and place a hand on Erik's shoulder. "You're looking more horrific than usual," the Persian gently mocked. When he received no response from his masked acquaintance, Nadir moved to face him with concern. "Erik."

Still no response. Erik only looked blankly away from the two of us to the blank wall before him and more or less collapsed against Nadir. He was still clutching at his injured shoulder and appeared to be just as troubled by the knife wound to his side. It was becoming painfully clear that the few days gone by had not given him back his strength.

I took a knee off to Nadir's left and observed. They remained still for a moment, Erik's increasingly ragged breaths becoming more evident as the seconds passed. The air in the room was terribly still and excerpted a sort of dead weight that was choking to those who paid it any heed. "Perhaps we should fetch the doctor," I said quietly.

"I have no need for a doctor," Erik hissed.

"Yes you do," Nadir assured, looking to me.

"I rather think not."

"Then stand up," demanded Nadir, his patience evaporating quickly. "If you insist that you are in no need of a physician _then stand up_." Erik looked up to Nadir with pure contempt. He lay there, unwilling to admit to either of us or himself that he was incapable of moving.

Finally Nadir took pity as he knelt to assist. He muttered something in Persian and Erik responded in the foreign tongue. Seconds of silence passed between the two, and Nadir shook his head. "Leave me be," Erik whispered.

"Fine, you incorrigible miscreant, suffer then. I shall be in the adjoining room sleeping, though I do not expect you will be calling for me," Nadir spat as he stood and made for the door. "You are content to believe you never require anyone's help, but if were not for the Vicomte and I, you would be lying dead in some blackened hole."

"Perhaps that was the _point_," Erik said. His words hit Nadir and I like bricks and I hung my head.

Nadir paused for a moment before speaking quietly with great disappointment, "You truly wish you died down there…"

Erik, sprawled on his back and still clutching at his right shoulder, hesitated. "I wish he were a better shot."

Throughout the next morning and rest of the following day the house was intolerably quiet. Erik was quite unconscious and failed to wake despite several of Nadir's attempts and Doctor De Lorme's presence.

After her morning vigil at Erik's bedside, Christine left to eat lunch with Mamma Valérius. She offered to stay with me in my grief, but I insisted that she take a few hours to herself and assured her I would manage. I was managing with my loss, and did not want to see Christine dragged down by it. I admit I missed seeing her in my home, for she lit the walls with her face. I knew eventually she would have to return to Mamma Valérius for the wedding was not for several weeks. While I desperately wanted her to remain with me, I knew it was beyond all boundaries of "acceptable." She had stayed in her own room and it was all very respectable, but the fact of the matter remained. Most importantly, Christine feared that Mamma Valérius would worry if she remained away too long.

"I am here, Raoul, if you need me. I do not want you to feel alone during this time," she said before she departed. "I cannot possibly thank you enough for what you have done." I kissed her and squeezed her hands.

"I will manage for the afternoon. I need some time to myself, as do you. Please think nothing of it. I would go to the end of the earth for you if you so desired. I only hope it turns out well in the end," I replied.

Christine looked down to her skirts for a moment and looked as if she were choosing her words wisely. "I know this is putting you in a terrible position," she began quietly, looking up to meet my eyes. "Taking him into your home as you have done…I know that you want him dead for the things he has done, but Raoul, you must understand…"

"I do," I soothed as I cupped her cheek with my left hand. She returned the favor.

She looked up at me and gazed into my eyes. "This will all turn out well. I promise." And with that, she kissed me and she was off. _May society be damned_, I thought to myself with a smile spread across my face. _I am going to marry that girl._ All of the good Parisian society would be up in arms with such a union – a singer marrying a Comte – but I never cared. I turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the critics and focused on our future.

When I returned inside the air in the house was still heavy. The smile faded from my face as soon as I stepped in the door. I paused in the hallway before turning right back around to return outside. The sun was shining, the air was warm and welcoming for that time of year, and the horses were turned out in the paddocks. I indulged myself and went for a walk.

Horses were a pleasure and a hobby for me, as they were for many gentlefolk. I found them majestic and sporting at the same time. A good horse meant a great deal to me. My brother had owned a small string of racehorses that we stabled on the estate during the off-season. In addition, we had an assortment of carriage horses as well as field hunters and hacks for riding purposes. As I passed by the paddocks I stopped to say hello to my favorite mount, Monsieur. He was a big, dark bay gelding with flashy markings and impressive movement. He was a magnificent creature and at 16.3 hands high at the wither, possessed a commanding presence. I greeted him with a smile and stroked his intelligent head as he searched me for treats. Casually I retrieved a mint from my pocket and offered it to him. Dutifully Monsieur took it and made the most bewildered of faces as he tasted the mint. I laughed at his display – this was my companion of many years and I very much enjoyed his company. After stroking his ears once more, I moved on to the next paddock as Monsieur turned his attention back to harassing the younger geldings.

Two big, matching grey geldings gazed at me over the fence as I approached. Samson and Salomon they were named. They were my favorite driving team by far. I offered them each a mint from my pocket and a pat and continued my walk. In the next paddock was a trio of young mares, all part of our racing stock. The eldest was a blood bay mare I called Ariel. She was fine boned with a refined head and elegant, lady-like appearance. For some time she had been retired from the races and while I always thought she'd make a lovely hack for Christine with some patience, I lacked the time in the past month or so to dedicate to her training. I easily could have had one of the stable boys work with her, but I wanted a personal touch for this mare. She was excitable and flighty at times, but oh so magnificent. I wanted desperately to present her to Christine, but I dared not until I was sure of her trustworthiness. _Someday, _I thought as I gazed out upon her.

I heard screaming coming from the barn, and as I turned I saw one of the stable hands leading a horse down the lane to the empty paddock awaiting him. I immediately recognized the animal as Giovanni, a black gelding that was part of one of my driving teams. The horse was terribly upset and I couldn't help staring as he was lead toward me. His head was up as far as he could carry it and his feet hardly touched the ground. Incessantly he screamed and tried turning to look back to the stable, but his handler repeatedly corrected him with a yank of the lead. _Odd_, I thought. Normally this horse was especially quiet, perhaps even aloof. In three years of service to me I had never seen him this worked up.

The hand turned Giovanni out and I approached to inquire what was going on. "Commodore colicked again last night, Monsieur," the young man, Frederic, explained. Commodore was Giovanni's teammate, the one who was acting ill three days ago. Frederic paused. "I am very sorry to hear about Monsieur Philippe. That is why we did not seek you out last night sir. The horse was destroyed this morning sir. He was in a lot of pain and was not resolving," he explained. "And now this one's all worked up. He's been kicking down the walls all mornin'. Maurice wanted him out of the barn." I nodded sadly and Frederic made his way down the lane. What bright mood I may have been in was quickly dragged back down into the blackness of the night before. Philippe. My heart and stomach sank. Once again I felt lost as I spread my arms along the fence and gazed out on the crazed maniac now running back and forth along the fence line.

"It seems as if you and I have a lot in common," I muttered, addressing the upset horse. As he passed by I reached out and touched his ebony face. As I did so I thought of Philippe. I crossed my arms on the fence and rested my head as I watched Giovanni pace back and forth, his shrill cries never to be heard again by his lost teammate. Slowly I shook my head and returned indoors, followed by the calls of the black horse.

For the rest of the afternoon the horse cried. One could nearly set a watch to his desperate pleading. With every scream I was reminded painfully of Philippe's loss, and more than one time that afternoon I found myself near breakdown. At one point I recounted the evening before and the sight of my dead brother, and was so disturbed that turned into a vomiting wretch. Desperately I needed something to occupy my mind, but my ambition had disappeared. In Christine's absence and my own grief, I found myself staring often out the window to the paddocks where the imposing black figure still paced the fence.

Even when Christine returned my spirits were still dark, for the horse's calls did not cease. He had calmed some, most likely due to exhaustion, but he still cried without fail. Horses know when they lose a one of their own. I am convinced that they can sense it. It is as if they can smell death. The hands returned all the horses to the stable for the evening and I could still hear Giovanni screaming from his stall on occasion.

I did not sleep well that evening at all. In fact, I woke from a light sleep near midnight. Something was amiss, and I could not quite decipher what was the problem. Several moments passed before I discovered the fact that it was quiet. Dead quiet outside. The horse was not calling. For no reason whatsoever I threw on the closest available trousers, shoes, shirt, and coat, and made my way outside. It was a warm evening for the time of year. Quickly I went to the stable, but found Giovanni's stall empty. My curiosity now turned to suspicion. I turned to go wake the grooms when out of the corner of my eye I saw a black figure moving in the distance. There was the horse in question, alone in a small paddock with another shadow. I approached slowly. The shadow was tall and appeared to be working the horse in some fashion. It was only when the figure turned to the right that I caught a glimpse of the white mask did I know who it was.

Immediately I shrank behind one of the tall bushes. Indeed it was Erik, with his right arm in a crude sling. Despite his injuries he appeared to move very gracefully, and he and the tall black horse were involved in a strange exchange of sorts. Erik would shoo the horse away with a quick gesture, and then turn away after the horse circled him at a walk or trot several times, and the horse would simply walk up to him. I watched as Giovanni followed Erik about the paddock like a dog, starting and stopping calmly with him, turning, all with no halter or restraint.

I must have sat there for a half an hour observing this dance, which of course was only the beginning. Erik stroked the horse from head to tail, lifted the feet, and coaxed him to lower his head to the ground in submission. Moments later he sent the horse away again. Giovanni pawed the ground and lowered himself to the ground for a good roll, but before he was finished Erik was at his side. Normally horses would hop right up to their feet, but no, Giovanni stayed down. Erik once again ran his free hand down the horse's face, neck, and barrel. The scene was utterly peaceful. I was in awe. And before I knew it, I was making my way toward the pair.

**_Author's Notes:_**

And so comes to an end the memoirs of our darling Vicomte, at least for the time being. Expect Erik's POV for some time to come.

_If you have any questions on the horse lingo, do give me a shout! There will be plenty more of it in the upcoming chapters anyway._

Pertie- _I simply adore "Rosy Hours!" I began reading that fic earlier this summer, but put it off. I'll definitely have to start back up on it. Thank you for the comparison, what an honor!_

_**Thank you all once again for the amazing reviews! They all make me smile and keep me writing. **_


	9. The Paddock

**Turn of the Tide: The Paddock**

_Erik:_

My existence on this earth has been wrought with an array of unpleasant experiences, and from those experiences comes a vast wealth of skill and awareness that the normal man – if there ever was such a thing – could not conceive.

My tussle with de Chagny the night before sent me into a day-long fit of agony which was only made worse by the incessant screaming coming from outside. I laid there in bed all day, cursing every foot fall outside my door, every miniscule noise that was amplified a thousand times in my condition. I simply lacked the ambition to speak even to Nadir, who stayed by my side again throughout the day. Eventually, though, I decided a touch of conversation would be a welcome respite from the constant screeching. Nadir and I made arrangements that would take me from the Chagny estate and away from the harm I had caused.

Away from Christine.

Once more in a state of self-loathing, I moped about until it was dark and quiet before I struggled to dress in some of my fine clothing Nadir had gathered for me. I hadn't considered my need for a sling until the stabbing pain in my shoulder told me otherwise. Painfully I fashioned one out of available linen and managed to get myself into it. It was a well-fought battle that I admit I nearly lost. I actually remember feeling rather proud of myself until I realized I had not put my coat on and had to repeat the bloody process all over again. Splendid.

Deftly I traveled downstairs and outside to the stable toward the origin of the desperate cries. There he was – Giovanni, the magnificent horse with the most unfortunate of names. He had quieted some, but was still distraught. His coat was wrinkled with dried sweat and his eyes still looked about with urgency. Foolishly enough I led him out to the nearest paddock and turned him loose. Initially his feet grew wings and he ran about like a fool; I thought for a moment that he might jump the fence.

Feeling rather exhausted and sheepish – at this point I was feeling the same - Giovanni turned his attention back to me and I began giving him an occupation. He responded very well and I began to enjoy what truly was a kind demeanor. I lost track of time as I continued working the horse in liberty when I spied a dark shadow and felt that familiar, curious stare on my back.

The human race has been known for idiotic behavior throughout history, and our darling Vicomte that evening certainly illustrated why. I rolled my eyes at his brazen act of reconnaissance before I opened my mouth to speak.

"Men who stalk me from the shadows do not live to tell the tale, Chagny," I declared without even turning to face him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stiffen in his gait. I scoffed as I turned my attention back to the gelding. _Giovanni_, I thought to myself as I continued stroking his neck and barrel. His name was nearly enough to send me away when I read it on his stall plate. All day I had listened to him cry while the others assumed I was unconscious, and perhaps it would have been better if I were.

Was I truly that much of a threat at that hour of the night, nursing a knife wound in my side, a gunshot wound to my shoulder, and fine collection of other injuries from the bludgeoning of an angry mob? Most likely not, especially if the Vicomte was to remain on that side of the fence with a pistol.

"I should demand that you cease handling my horse immediately," he demanded. Raoul came to stand on the outside of the fence, standing squarely to me in what I presumed to be an attempt of intimidation. Instinctively my jaw clenched as I forced my attention on the horse. I feared that my temper very well could get the better of me and Monsieur le Vicomte would suffer the consequences despite my injured state.

Ignoring Raoul for a moment, I turned my body to face the horse and brought my left hand up to send Giovanni away from me at a bright trot. I watched carefully as he circled about me. By now the gelding was striding out calmly, his back free from tension and his hind end propelling him forward. His ears flicked back and forth as he watched and listened for my cues. After several revolutions I abruptly turned my back the to Vicomte and stood stock-still. Just as he had learned, Giovanni came to stand behind my right shoulder, and I reached over with my left hand to reward him.

"What the devil are you doing?" the Vicomte asked. His tone was surprisingly curious and lacked the edge of disapproval it had held moments before. Amazingly enough, my patience for the boy remained intact.

"Doing you and this poor horse a damn favor," I spat. "Unless, of course, your household would like to continue the incessant noise."

Raoul paused momentarily as he placed his hands behind his back. "We had to destroy his teammate recently."

"How _benevolent_ of you," I sneered. Why in Hell was he trying to converse with me?

"He was colicking badly and would not respond to treatment," exerted the Vicomte, his tone becoming suddenly defensive and resentful. The boy struck me as a horseman, and while I did not care to admit it at the time, he was most likely feeling ill toward my impetuous comment. "This is hardly necessary at this hour."

"No," I began, the sarcasm beginning to drip from my voice. "I will simply return him to his stall to scream the night away. Lord knows he may very well sweat himself to death and solve your problem for you." Raoul grew suddenly quiet and simply stared at us – the wounded, disfigured criminal and the horse at ease behind him. I watched as his gaze turned to a spot on the ground somewhere on his left. If I had been slightly more coherent or possessed an ounce more of caring I would have guessed that his thoughts were trailing back to his brother, Comte Philippe de Chagny. On that spectrum I felt sorry for the boy, I honestly did.

"The head injury," he muttered suddenly.

I tilted my head in inquiry. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you ask if my brother had a head injury? What concern was it of yours?" Raoul demanded as he looked at me, his eyes with a tinge of desperation, his tone trying to remain in control. Giovanni nudged my right shoulder from behind, not realizing the sharp pain he caused. I moved to his right and placed my left hand over his nose.

"You do not want to hear it, Chagny," I declared. He shook his head once and took a brazen step forward.

"Answer me, damn it, or perhaps we'll finish what was started last night."

"You mean pick up where we left off? Then in that case I suppose you had better give me that pistol you have stored in your coat, because I distinctly remember being in prime territory to blow your brains out," I seethed as I took a step toward him. "Best to not aggravate me now, Vicomte, it still may very well end poorly for you."

Raoul squared his shoulders tried to make himself look just a bit taller – it was, as I would come to learn, a typical thing for him to do when feeling backed against a proverbial wall. Point to Erik.

He took another step toward me with a sort of curious sneer written across his features. "You're wounded, out in the open. How do you expect to finish me off with only one hand?"

"I only need one hand and a stupid target," I declared. "Fortunately for me this evening I have both." I pulled my left hand inside my coat and fingered the fine bit of catgut that had served me so well over the years. To be perfectly honest I expected Raoul to take offense to that last remark and run off screaming like a little girl, but instead he took one final step toward me and rested a foot on the fence. I gave him a bit of credit for half smiling – at the time I didn't know if he was a half wit and incapable of seeing the insult, or if he was actually an intelligent being capable of laughing at himself.

There were a few more tense moments with the two of us staring at each other. In the back of my mind I was formulating an escape plan should something unfortunate occur, such as me breaking the lad's neck. Nadir was soon to arrive to extract me, but I feared he may not be in time should I be forced to do something rash. I looked off for a moment to my right, to the line of trees that hugged the fence line when Raoul once again inquired about the head injury to his brother.

"It is of no consequence," I said calmly. "Go back inside and have a brandy, cognac; do whatever it is annoying people like you do when you're sullen."

"Damn it, Erik!" he yelled. I turned to him a bit shocked not only at the volume of his voice, but the fact that he called me by my name. As it turns out it would be the first of many in our acquaintance with each other…Damn it, Erik this; damn it, Erik, that…one would think that I did something "wrong" quite often by him. Oh, I can hear it all now…

"If you don't tell me I shall go quite mad," he muttered. As I watched cautiously, Raoul gripped the fence with both hands, and allowed his head to drop momentarily in frustration. I could only look at him then, wondering what was going through his mind and wondering where the bloody _hell_ Nadir was. Raoul raised his head and looked at me, pleading for an answer.

Suddenly he seemed very young.

I sighed and answered his damn question. "The footing in the fifth cellar can be quite slick and treacherous, as I'm sure you are aware of. People fall and injure themselves down there more often than you may realize. It takes no great effort at all to give oneself a concussion by falling on wet stone, and then drown in the lake."

Raoul pushed himself up from the fence and his eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you."

"No? Go on then and see! Go at a jog and you'll see more closely." I watched as Raoul's distasteful grimace twitched, and he looked away momentarily. Not the one to dwell on other's internal conflicts I glanced at my pocket watch and cursed Nadir under my breath. As I glanced back over to Raoul he was still looking down at the grass. My tolerance for my injuries was beginning to wane, and I wished him away so that I may finally grimace and curse in privacy before Nadir arrived. Giovanni still stood by, resting one of his hind legs and watching the two men before him stand off in some strange spar of words he was incapable of understanding. I turned to the gelding and rested against his neck for a moment.

"Why are you out here?" Raoul asked suddenly.

"Leaving."

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

I looked at Raoul with an anger welling within. "What, so you can keep a leash on me, is that it?" The Vicomte would be sadly mistaken if he thought to keep me in his sights for long. To my surprise he did not match my tone, but paused briefly and responded with a soft volume.

"I inquire for Christine's sake."

His mention of her name stabbed me in the chest. My punishment to myself of leaving Christine while I still lacked the strength to overcome my desire had just slapped me in the face, and I became quiet. "You needn't worry."

Uttering those words was like admitting defeat. Capitulating to _him_ of all people caused half of me to want to leap across the fence and crush his pathetic throat – the other half of me simply wanted to roll over and die. This conflict drained me of the little energy I possessed and I quickly began to feel ill. I turned away from Raoul and stood somewhat shakily. I hurt. There was no denying that to myself anymore, and I only wanted to go away so that the torment may continue elsewhere. I made my way over to the fence, some distance away from Raoul, and leaned against it for support.

"Perhaps you should sit and rest while you wait," he suggested.

"Shut up, Chagny," I sneered over my shoulder. That last realization of mine had made me rather annoyed at his presence. Giovanni had followed me over and stood by as he had learned. I glanced up at his soft, kind eye and reached up absently with my left hand to scratch his forehead. I tangled my fingers in his forelock as I felt the fence behind me move under Raoul's weight.

"He quite likes you," he remarked. I looked painfully over my shoulder to find him not more than ten feet from me, arms folded on the top of the fence. What a strange evening this was, even by my standards. I said nothing in return, confident in my ability to work with horses, but not communicate with people. A minute crawled by before I heard a soft sigh from Raoul. "At times I find horses to be the best judges of character," he said softly as gestured for the gelding to approach him.

"Do not tell me you are going to change your entire opinion of me simply because of a horse," I scoffed. Positively absurd, but he had an excellent point. I watched from behind the mask as Raoul interacted with Giovanni over the fence. He had a relaxed, approachable posture around the animal. However much it angered me to say so, the boy had a kind demeanor about him. As much as it pained me to admit it to myself, Christine would be safe with him. One, if God had been listening, and two, if he had been kind enough, he would have dropped a boulder on my head right then. But, subject to my usual disappointment in the Almighty, we spent several more minutes in an uncomfortable, aggravating silence.

In that silence my breathing became a bit more frantic and uncomfortable. I felt myself sinking further against the fence until I decided, despite my innate sense of pride, it was probably best for me to be on the ground. As I more or less collapsed to my knees I felt something grab me under the left arm in support. It was Raoul. "Get off me," I growled as I sank against the fence post. I could see him then – he was just in front of me on the opposite side of the fence. He looked at me for a moment, grimaced some, and then returned to his position several feet behind me on the fence. I sat quietly as I waited for my increasingly tardy jailor to arrive. Nothing was said.

Not long afterward I heard doors closing and several footsteps approaching across the gravel drive. "Is everything well, Monsieur?" asked a gruff voice from a distance. "We heard shouting." Raoul made no response – he may have gestured, with my back turned I did not know. I turned slightly and from the corner of my eye noticed three or four servants or stable hands standing perhaps 50 feet away, illuminated by a single lantern. They stared at my collapsed figure. "Is he down, Monsieur?" one asked, and I feared I knew then why they had come.

Given my physical state I began to seriously doubt my ability to overpower four men – five, if that wretch Raoul became involved - or even my ability to escape. Deftly I slipped my free hand inside my coat once more and fingered the hidden Punjab lasso. If I was to be their target, the Vicomte would be mine.

"Thank you for your concern, all of you," Chagny remarked. "But we are both quite well and do not require your assistance." I thought I was hallucinating. Honestly, I thought my condition had worsened to a point where my mental capacity was slipping, and I had better catch his neck now before I was utterly incapable of defending myself.

"He don't appear well, Monsieur. Everyone's been talking," one of the stable hands noted in a deep, raspy voice that made the musician within cringe. The four began to approach. "All the house is scared of him, Monsieur, and come to find out he's stealing the horses…we can have him be gone for good, sir. Be real quiet-like."

"I do not want to hear any more of this nonsense. He did not steal the horse. We were attempting some new handling techniques, is all. Leave, Maurice. Everyone leave."

But Maurice did not leave. Disgusted, he spat, "No one wants him around, sir – he's a bloody freak of nature!"

"That is _quite_ enough," Raoul growled. To my utter shock the Vicomte stepped forward and stood between them and myself. "There will be none of that, here. Do you understand me?" he demanded. There was a tense silence. "Do you understand!" Murmured acknowledgements followed from the men. Raoul paused, then calmly stated, "Return to your quarters or I shall see you all questioning your employment at this estate." In confusion I had once again turned my back on all of them, and listened to the shuffling footsteps returning indoors. Raoul waited until the four had retreated before he returned to the fence. I hadn't moved from the fence post.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. It seemed quite clear to me he was wrestling with his words.

I stared at the cold ground before me. "I have no need for your fucking pity," I spat.

"It's not pity-"

"It is pity!" I declared as quickly regained my feet and spun around on him. I was itching to wring the breath out of the boy's neck, but Nadir's hired cab was making its way toward the drive, and I stared after it for a moment before turning back to Chagny. "If it's not pity, then it is fear, and fear leads to hatred. Quite frankly I don't need any help from you on any of those fronts, _Monsieur_," I spat.

Raoul was taken back by my sudden outburst. He stared after me as I walked by him. "If I hadn't stepped in they would have ripped you to pieces in your condition."

"Perhaps you should have stepped out of the way, then!" I called over my shoulder.

"They hate you. I can't say I necessarily disagree with them."

"Yes, well, I hate me too," I said coldly as the cab came to a halt.

"No remorse?" Raoul called after me. "No second thoughts over the lives you've ruined? What about Christine? What about the people you've killed?"

I turned and stood as he boldly stopped within a foot of me. Despite my condition and the moments of peace that had occurred between us over the past several days, I stared him down and gave him my icy warning. "If you seek me out in the future, Chagny, I will kill you."

I was not accustomed to breaking that type of promise. I had done so once before, to the man that now watched from the inside of the cab and waited to ferry me away from this situation. Had I known I was about to break it again, I most likely would have thrown myself in front of the cab then and there.

I turned from Chagny and joined Nadir. As the cab trotted off, I watched Raoul stare after us before turning my attention to Giovanni, who had once again resumed running the fence line in my absence. Nadir looked at me in horror of the part of the conversation he had heard, but was most likely surprised at seeing us both alive in each other's company. As we drove off into the surrounding darkness I was disturbed over how strange the evening was – how close the Vicomte and I had come to killing and praising each other in the same span of time. Little did I know that this strange evening would lead to a sort of surreal existence any sort of stupor could not conjure.

_**Author's Note:**_

_Here it is! My deepest, deepest apologies to all of you for not updating. This story is NOT going to stay incomplete. I beg you all to be patient, as I am in a very busy part of my life that does not afford much time for creative writing such as this. I have quite the tale to tell, and I think it'll be an exciting one to be a part of, so I hope you will have the patience with me to go for the ride._

_Thank you all for your reviews and encouragement!_


	10. Distance

**Turn of the Tide: Distance**

"Are you positively out of your damned head?" Nadir shouted as soon as we had cleared the Chagny property. Clearly he was not aware of the hour.

"You've asked that question for years. You really ought know the answer by now," I mocked.

"Don't do this to me, Erik. That man is the only reason you are alive for me to berate you!"

"Yet another reason why he should have left me well alone."

Nadir's face dropped. "You miserable creature," he spat in his native Persian tongue. "Have you anything but contempt for others? For me?" I stared ahead coldly, though I knew that Nadir's face was flush with anger and his ragged breaths reflected his horror at my behavior. He threw himself back against the seat and stared on ahead as he cursed me. "I fear I may be finished with you, Erik, if something does not change…May Allah help you."

"No, thank you."

"I hate you right now," he muttered.

I scoffed. "There seems to be a great deal of that going around at the moment." The rest of the cab ride was made in silence. I daresay in the other corner of the cab Nadir's mouth was still moving and muttering his displeasure, but no sound escaped his lips. When we arrived at his flat, I made my way inside as quickly as my injured frame would allow. I wanted no extra attention and so was thankful for the late hour, but not my outburst at the Chagny estate that the cab driver would most certainly take with him. I lingered just inside the doorway as the cab made its way off, and wondered if letting him go would come back to haunt me later.

Nadir had found his way to a chair and held his head in his hands. Darius watched cautiously from the adjoining room as he fixed tea. "I don't know what to do with you anymore," Nadir murmured.

"Then do nothing," I spat as I turned to face him. "I don't want your charity."

"This is not charity."

"Concern, then. Whatever the hell it is you want to call it. Never once in this screwed up relationship did I ask for it." Nadir looked up at me thoughtfully.

"Relationship? You mean friendship, Erik."

"Kill me."

"After all these years and everything I've done for you, you cannot be bothered to acknowledge me as a friend?" he asked. Nadir rose to his feet and started to approach me.

"With a gun, please, if you would," I continued, not caring to acknowledge his current pursuit of inner peace and beauty. "It would be a bit loud so it could potentially wake the neighbors, but they hate you anyway - "

"Shut up and take one thing seriously in your life, please!" Nadir demanded as he grabbed my shoulder. As I winced from my injuries I saw his desperate features twist with worry. He looked me up and down as if to remind himself of the extent of the damage. "You're in need of a physician…I cannot fathom how you are even still standing," he said sadly.

"Is there a lever, some sort of switch I can turn to cease your caring?" I sneered as I brushed his hand off. He stared slowly up at me, and I raised my eyebrows – not that he could honestly see them! – to hasten some sort of reply. The reply I received was not exactly what I was hoping for. Nadir dug his fingers into my right shoulder and I immediately dropped to one knee in agony. He held fast, too – I'm certain he was taking a perverse sort of pleasure in reducing me to a broken, bloody wreck once more.

"Lever's stuck," he quipped. When he finally let go I collapsed onto the floor – on my right side, no less – and lay there shaking for several moments. Though the wounds were now freshly stirred, I regained my composure and looked to Nadir. He simply motioned toward a nearby chair and slowly, I took it. He, too, sat as Darius gave us our tea and returned to the kitchen. "Good to see you again, Darius," I called sarcastically. He shot me a look of displeasure, groaned, and exited into another room. I smirked. "Nice chat."

"I'm glad to see the Vicomte escape your encounter without injury," Nadir remarked. He sipped his tea and stared expressionless at me.

"As much as it would please me to be rid of the boy, I couldn't bring myself to wreak more havoc on an already destroyed family," I declared. Inwardly I was bashing my own head into the wall, but outwardly I must have appeared very calm.

Nadir looked at me curiously. "If I did not know better I would think that you actually feel sorry for the boy."

"Don't harp on this issue, Nadir. You may cause me to rethink my decision," I said coolly. The tea's awkwardly familiar taste made me grimace. After realizing what was going on, I fixed my cold eyes on my so-called friend. "You laced this with something, didn't you," I demanded suddenly.

Nadir's stare never wavered with my implication. "Laudanum," he responded, in an unhurried fashion that honestly made me want to kill him.

"You bastard…"

"Quite a lot of it, too," Nadir noted. "Couldn't count on you drinking the whole thing." I then muttered an expletive I have already mentioned far too often in my account. I dropped my cup and was at Nadir's throat in a heartbeat, pressing my free arm against his neck and slamming him into the wall. He looked shocked, but not terrified; the next thing I knew Darius was pulling me off his master by my right arm. He dragged me backward and before I could do anything, had me pinned to the floor with one of his brutish arms across my neck and the other holding my arm behind my back – which, I might add, felt like my shoulder was ripping slowly in two.

"Erik, enough!" Nadir cried as he watched me struggle. Between the increasing effect of the draught Nadir slipped me and the pain resonating from my shoulder and other wounds, I was growing ever more incoherent and uncomfortable. I struggled against Darius, but he was a large man and in my condition I was going nowhere. "Darius ease up," Nadir asked. "Ease up, damn it! Good…Erik, do not fight this, it will only be more painful. This is going to give you a few hours to rest peacefully. Try to relax now." Relax? I'll show you relaxed, you Persian twit. Hanging from the end of a rope is damn relaxed –

"Help me get him in the other room," Nadir muttered to his servant. I half surrendered and allowed them to attempt to carry me.

"I don't particularly care for you right now, Darius," I muttered through my increasing stupor.

"I don't like you either." My God, he spoke! The imposing Prophet of the Household Upkeep actually spoke. Darius would hardly ever speak in my presence; I was truly shocked. It turns out that he speaks quite a lot, too. He did an awful lot of cursing when I was in that flat.

I was set down on a bed and Darius retreated back to his pans, or tea-making…whatever it is he does. Nadir sat by in silence. Somewhere in there I recall muttering, "Christine…"

"Christine is not here, my friend. She will never be here," Nadir said, trying to coax some reality into my fading consciousness. Looking back, I should have told him that was a terrible bedtime story.

The draught lasted nearly eight hours, all of which was anything but peaceful. Despite Nadir's good – and terribly misguided – intentions, I did not take well to Laudanum. My troubled mind raced, darting between the Opera, Christine, the dark alley and the insufferable wounds, and Nadir's betrayal. Needless to say I woke in a terrible mood the next morning.

"Ah, good morning," Nadir greeted as he walked in the room with tea in one hand and a newspaper under his arm. "Glad to see that you're awake."

My face twisted at his words. "When I regain the use of my right side I'm going to seriously hurt you."

"Oh I doubt that, Erik," he replied, half smiling. He was right. Over the next two days I tried on more than one occasion to break his neck, but by then Darius had become quite proficient at wrenching my shoulder just so to send me to the floor. Just you wait, Darius…my payback would be beautiful. Eventually the three of us reached a peaceful coexistence; or tolerable, anyway. Darius and I were equally displeased to be in each other's company, though he did a much more admirable job of hiding it, and Nadir occasionally went about with a grin on his face. I began to wonder if he lacked a central nervous system.

A week past and despite the banter between the two or three of us, my mood was dismal. At the time everything was a struggle – I naturally chose to keep to myself, and so for the time being suffered with such simple tasks as dressing myself. Feeling like a cripple only blackened my demeanor. Nadir watched sadly as I made the discovery of his humble spinet and ran my fingers over the keys. I suspect he wanted very much for me to play it, but between my lack of a functioning right arm and the horrific quality of the instrument, I had no desire. Those were the reasons I offered to him when he questioned me on it, but they were only half the picture. I had no want for music at that time, for I feared very deeply the feelings it may have held for me.

Even so I found myself occasionally picking up my violin that Nadir had brought with him from the Opera. One day I sat solemnly with the instrument resting under my chin, my left hand absently fingering notes as I stared into the fire. "Why do you not play?" Nadir inquired. I snapped out of my trance and looked at him with quiet contempt. I gently lifted my right hand off the armrest to remind him.

"Oh," he muttered.

"Oh," I sneered. Somewhat disgusted, I turned back to the flames in the fireplace and continued to finger the strings. Nadir looked up once again from his newspaper.

"Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to use it a bit," he suggested.

"It hurts quite a lot, actually," I scoffed. He did not know the extent to which it frustrated me to not be able to do a simple thing such as use the bow on my violin. Many times the doctor within me had pondered the extent of the injury to my shoulder; many times I had examined it in the mirror and probed it, looking for some answers. I did not think my arm would be useless from now on, but I was quite sure be greatly weakened and for the moment, extremely painful. The knife wound to my side and the broken rib I had suffered were healing, but they did not have the negative effects the shoulder wound had. Not that I honestly had the heart to play music at the time, but the fact that I was incapable of it flat out angered me. "Not that your man has helped any with the pain lately either."

"Don't be blaming Darius for any of this, Erik," Nadir demanded. From the kitchen I heard Darius grumble.

"Ugly fiend," he muttered in disgust.

"Yes, and you're a servant," I retorted. "Now bring me a croissant."

Nadir rolled his eyes and allowed the paper fall into his lap. "You need an occupation, my friend. Badly, I might add."

"I should say the same for you. What is it exactly that you do when you're not playing my jailor?"

He smirked. "I used to be quite active at a local library. Reading is an escape. In fact, the management is thinking of remodeling the building. I should bring you the plans to look over and make suggestions. I'm sure they would be more than willing to offer a consultation fee."

I shook my head and made a motion as if to throw my violin at Nadir's head, but returned it to rest on my left shoulder. I was displeased, but at the same time I knew I had to occupy my mind with something other than Christine. I was not doing badly on that front considering, but I knew that if I remained idle too much longer, my feelings could get the best of me.

"Is that an agreement?" Nadir inquired, his head tilted curiously. I nodded. Darius placed the plate containing my croissant on the nearby table, and I stared at it coldly. After he retreated into another room I stood up and made to do the same. Nadir stared after me, confused.

"Are you not going to eat that?" he asked.

"Of course not," I replied.

"Then you should not have asked to have it brought out. Why on earth do you feel the need to aggravate him so?"

"Aggravating him is about the only thing I _can_ do around here."

The plans of the building were entirely ridiculous, and I made that quite obvious to Nadir. The first two days that I had the plans in my possession I rambled non stop on the idiocy of the architect they had hired. Too many walls, all placed in a completely incoherent fashion throughout the floor plan of the building. While initially my enthusiasm for the project was at a minimal, it gained momentum as I sketched some thoughts on paper. After a week, Nadir suggested that I see the building for myself. To my current astonishment I agreed. Arrangements were made several weeks down the road to allow my condition to improve.

Nadir and I sat down and actually formulated a story to go along with the mask. I would be examining the building late at night after it had closed to the public, keeping my exposure to a minimum. The middle aged owner of the building was there and was made aware of my condition – while I had just discarded the sling, I was still did not have much use of my right arm and was exceptionally cautious about going out. The stares I received from the owner were to be expected, but not any worse. I believe Nadir told him I was the victim of old war wounds – thus explaining the need for the mask – that had been aggravated from a nasty fall from a rank horse. It was a bit weak in my opinion, but realistic. I had considered lion attack in jest, but Nadir did not think that would go over well.

Initial meetings went well and were relatively productive. New plans were drawn up. I would elaborate more, but it was so routine and boring I feel there is no need. Nadir hassled me some about taking up the contracting on the project, but naturally I told him he was off his rocker. I needed no excuse to be out in the world any more than I already was. I was across the city from the Opera House, and two months had passed since my discovery. Even so, I wanted nothing to do with the human race, and I felt it was far too fresh in people's minds to even try.

This account does not honestly portray how much Christine was on my mind. I do not think an hour passed in my day where something did not remind me either of her or of the Opera House. I suppose I managed well enough playing the recluse architect, appearing to occupy my thoughts with the success of the current, unimaginative project at my feet, but in reality it took me longer to distance myself from what had happened. Another month passed in which I occasionally attended the site late at night to inspect the work and get updates from the owner or the contractor that I had him hire, and I began to feel myself moving on. To what, exactly, I did not know. Prospects for me at the time were dismal. But I did occasionally ponder what Christine and her now Comte were doing – last I had heard they had a private ceremony not long after I left, and had spent a month or more out of the country. I forced myself not to dwell on it, to get it out of my life. Unfortunately enough for me, it was about to come crashing back in.


	11. Intrusion

**Turn of the Tide - Intrusion**

**Erik:**

My work on the library was at no point particularly interesting to me. The majority of the tasks included drafting the interior wall structure that would meet the special needs of the client. It was all perfectly boring, not that I wanted any distractions from my work. Whenever I was on the job I much preferred accomplishing what I had set out before me, and returning to the seclusion of Nadir's humble flat as soon as possible. Usually this was never an issue given my focus and uncanny sense of stealth. This was not the case one particular evening.

I hadn't been at the site more than an hour when I was rudely – and most unrepentantly – interrupted. I turned around from my drafting table to find Nadir standing just within the lantern's light, some dark figure off behind him – seemingly the Library manager whom I had met two weeks prior. My annoyance increased as the two continued to stand there without so much as a word. As I tapped my pencil off the table, I tilted my head thoughtfully. "Rubbish," I noted.

Nadir shook his head briefly. "I beg your pardon?"

"This protractor is rubbish," I explained as I held up what was left of the instrument. "I fear it may have seen its last draft." That was absolute nonsense, I might add. Yes, I may have nearly destroyed mine in a fit, but I could have easily popped it back into shape with no more than five minute's work. I simply enjoyed giving Nadir the runabout for dragging me into this little pet project of his.

"What happened to it?"

I half smiled at Nadir's confusion. "There are many ways to describe it, but perhaps it is best left said that it had an unfortunate encounter with the floor."

He sighed. "Indeed. Well I can assure you there will be a new one in the morning."

Predictable, Nadir - far too predictable. Shaking my head slowly, I said, "On second thought, never mind. I suppose I could put my own back together."

Nadir looked up. His confusion was now invaded by a familiar sense of frustration. "But I thought you said you needed a new one?"

"I never said a word about a replacement," I noted with a wry smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. Yes, I was getting to him. Yes, I was enjoying it. "I simply mentioned its condition. Good God, Nadir, you jump to conclusions faster than a ballet rat practicing yenta." I looked over my shoulder to see Nadir's face becoming flush with irritation. I would have taken a bit more satisfaction in my work if I hadn't once again noticed the man standing in the shadows. His sharp top hat did not remind me of the man I had met before, and there was a sudden tight feeling in my throat when he made his way toward us. The potential smile on my face disappeared as his features became visible.

"Chagny," I growled. My evening just went from annoying to homicidal. His presence astounded and angered me to great lengths. Nadir had wisely come to stand in front of me, and facing me had placed a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to keep my welling anger at bay. I merely leaned with my left arm against the table and stared at Chagny though the mask. How my hands did not fly to his throat I will never be sure.

Raoul stepped further into the light while he removed his white gloves. His face displayed an air of calmness, but his hands twisting his discarded gloves had given him away. Several tense moments passed with neither party willing to make the first move. Quite frankly I wondered if Nadir was looking to take cover.

Chagny shifted under my glare. "I did not come this evening to make enemies, nor do I expect to make friends."

"What a coincidence, Chagny, because we are already enemies and I came here to work," I spat.

"I've come to ask some advice regarding my mare."

"No," I retorted. "You have made a most unfortunate error."

"Erik," Nadir cautioned as I felt his grip tighten ever so slightly above my ruined shoulder.

"No, it's quite alright Monsieur Khan. It is pretentious of me to intrude. I apologize." The Comte stared me up and down for a moment before foolishly asking, "Evening dress while working?"

"What in Hell do you want from me?" I demanded, my patience nearly gone. How dare he come here and pretend to make conversation. He and I continued to stare at each other as he contemplated a response, but when his features softened some I realized his answer was not all he had hoped for.

"I'm not exactly certain," he muttered. Chagny looked down briefly, but when his eyes returned to meet my gaze, he found me staring blankly at him with mouth gaping. For a moment I considered stabbing my free hand with the sharpened pencil I had in order to wake from this frustrating dream, but then thought better of the repercussions. I wiped Nadir's hand off my shoulder and immediately demanded to know why he had brought Chagny here.

"Monsieur le Comte had some technical questions to ask of you," he explained, calmly as ever. "He sought me out here one day and inquired into a meeting."

"If he is unable to provide a forthright answer to me, than this 'meeting' is no longer worth my valuable time." I turned suddenly to Chagny. It was not my time that was valuable – it was my patience. "I am beginning to regret allowing Christine to leave with you, _Monsieur,"_ I seethed. "I would have hoped for a bit more common sense in one of your position to stay out of danger. What, did your mother drop you on your head when you were a child?"

"I beg your pardon?" he demanded, his face twisting with displeasure.

I stepped toward the young Comte. "Because it occurs to me that you have some sort of mental incapacity that prevents you from listening to reason. If I were you, I'd take what I was fortunate enough to have and leave those lying in your wake well alone."

To his credit, Chagny simply stood there and took my onslaught. By now Nadir had taken a strong hold of my right arm and was prepared to do whatever necessary to prevent me from getting at the nobleman's throat. Chagny withdrew his stare, but not his stance. Thoughtfully he peered down to the floor and then to Nadir.

Chagny poked around the room, stepping around plaster molds and discarded tools. "What is all of this?" he asked impetuously.

"This?" I replied, referring to my drafting tools, plans, and indeed the entire scope of the design project. "This is what I do!" I explained, my arms wide like a showman. I returned my arms to my side and stepped brazenly forward. "This is what I have always done. Ah, not much of an angel or ghost now, am I? Architecture seems a terribly dull occupation for one with such an ominous reputation, I agree. This is what I did before your lot drove me underground."

"My lot?"

"Men," I spat as I stepped again toward him. "With your wars, your classes, your accusing eyes…a man cannot be left alone with his own troubles – society must drive him mad with them! I am quite sure you've never received a knock upon your door from the lowly wife of the drunken landlord asking you kindly to leave because the other tenants are becoming too curious. I do not suppose you have ever had to work for a living in a place where the only thing that overrode the workers' hatred of you was their complete dependency on the pay you gave them. I could go on, but quite honestly I don't see the _point_." By now we were only inches from one another, with me towering over him. Raoul stood stock still as if at attention, staring straight ahead and past my left shoulder. He did not seem fazed; if he garnered any hint of respect from me at all that evening, it was in that one moment of composure.

I admit it is exceedingly difficult to carry a rage when your opponent does not reflect your anger in any visible way. My left hand clenched into a fist behind my back, for I could have choked him all too easily while I stood there over him. Nadir had immediately rushed over to restrain me – not that he would have done any good! – and stood off to my left awaiting an explosion. It was not to come. The three of us stood in close proximity for what seemed like a long while. In a low tone I asked finally Chagny, "What do you want?"

He immediately turned his head to look me in the eye. "I want to know what you did with the horse that evening. I want to know how you calmed him."

"Get out."

I watched as he seemed to wrestle with his words. "I ask this of you on behalf of Christine."

"_Get out."_

"The mare I'm intending for her needs a quiet start. I am quite certain of the good nature of the mare, but in order for her to be the proper mount for a lady I feel your techniques may be a more suitable approach."

"Childish pet tricks," I said, dismissing my work. I made a gesture and he started for the door. Chagny only made about four steps before he slowly turned back.

"It was magnificent," he noted thoughtfully, his hat now on his head. "I am a horseman as well, you realize, and I have never seen anything like it. It was remarkable." He glanced to the floor momentarily before saying, "I'm beginning to realize a great deal of your work is."

Of course, he was referring to Christine. She was my one shining jewel. My gaze fell to the floor, and slowly I made my way back across the room to the table where I had initially been working.

"She is concerned for you," Chagny said, almost apologetically, and I spun around to look at him with contempt.

"Don't," I warned.

Raoul fixed his eyes on me. "I would not mention it if it were not true." That statement was completely disarming. I quickly found I could not hold a rage when Christine concerned, and because of it I spread my arms across the drafting table and hung my head some.

I had been prepared to walk away from the whole mess – Christine, her Comte, the Opera, all of it – yet this dolt seemed quite unprepared to let me do so. "Let me warn you Monsieur, that you are playing a dangerous game, seeking me out like this," I growled as I looked over my shoulder at him. "I let you go once; if you keep coming back into my life I will not guarantee that I'll do so a second time."

Raoul stopped and looked back at me. "You already have."

With that, he disappeared into the adjoining, unfinished room. I continued to hover over my table, musing over what had just transpired while Nadir made his way to my side. The very fact that the boy had sought me out was unthinkable in my mind. How utterly foolish his actions were! What was more disturbing to me, though, was my repeated tolerance. I might have easily done away with Chagny in the past, but how I managed to allow him to walk away was eating me from within. I knew not what to make of it. I only wanted it to be over. I had accepted that Christine would never belong to me. I had accepted that she was better off with her Comte. But not once did I anticipate this. I rested my head on the table and instinctively placed a hand on my sore shoulder. "This is killing me, Nadir. It must stop."

He gave me his usual concerned look before paying his dutiful attention to the obvious. "Your shoulder? Come, we shall return home and I'll prepare some medication." That was Nadir talk for _I'll happily drug you until you are completely witless._

I grimaced. "I'm not referring to my damned shoulder, Nadir!" I finally yelled as I stood up once again to face him and pointed to the door. "This must no longer continue. Allowing them back into my life after I had walked away. You interfere far too much and it is killing me."

"Interfere with what!" he replied angrily. I could only stand there and stare at him with contempt. As much as I hated to admit it, the man was absolutely right. I had nothing. What is worse is that I had no ambition to achieve anything, either. Men find themselves down dark roads when they lack purpose. My head dropped once more. I was very much in need of a brandy, or perhaps a good, sturdy wall to dash my head off of.

Nadir stood faithfully by, allowing me time to think before he started in on me again. "I would happily leave you to plan your own existence if only you would promise me to actually do something with yourself."

"I can happily plan my own way right into the Seine, with some iron weights to accompany me."

He sighed and stared at me for a bit. "Perhaps we need to look at this differently."

"Perhaps you need a new mercy case," I spat. As I stood there contemplating his words, I began to think of future possibilities. Nadir could be correct once again. Perhaps playing a small role in Christine's life was better than no role at all. I was quiet for several minutes, staring off into nothing, until something caught my eye on the drafting table. I lifted the now delicate instrument and examined it briefly before crushing what was left of it in my hand.

"Nadir."

"What?"

"I need another protractor."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**

_Thank you all so very much for sticking with this and continuing to leave reviews. It means a lot to me! Future chapters to follow, so please be patient! Lots of reviews lots more motivation for me to write._


	12. Say Nothing

**Turn of the Tide - Say Nothing**

Erik:

"You have too many cards," I noted. Nadir casually looked up at me from across the table and then shot a fleeting glance to Darius.

"No I do not," he shot back, somewhat hurt that I had called him on it. He went right back to examining his coins, confident in the numerical status of his playing cards.

"Can't you count?" I mocked as I stared straight across at him. "Six. I see six in your hand."

"And your point?"

"You can't have six cards in a five-card game." Nadir naturally glanced at his hand and a bit sheepishly slid one card to the bottom of the deck. Darius shifted in his chair while I went back to studying my own cards. This particular game was a complete waste of my time and talent, but seeing that it was well after two in the afternoon on a bright, beautiful Parisian day, and I honestly had nothing better to do, it was enough to occupy the lull.

The Comte de Chagny's appearance the week prior was about to be revisited, as he was due to stop by that afternoon to discuss in detail the matter of the horse. Why on earth he would venture into the clutches of a known madman for the sake of a pleasure horse I would never understand. I began to believe very strongly in the boy's own mental shortcomings, say nothing of my own.

The three of us sat in a silence thick as Darius's facial hair. In fact, I recall actually saying that aloud, which of course earned me the most appreciative look from Darius – if by "appreciation" I mean seething disdain, naturally. I had bluffed well enough for them to bet far out of their means, and when it came time to show our hands I admit I smirked at their misfortune. Instead of collecting my winnings, I merely rose to pour myself a glass of water.

Nadir looked at me with a peculiar stare. "Will you not gather what you won?" he asked unsurely. I casually sipped my glass and turned back to him.

"I never like to take from the less fortunate," I declared. "Your distinct lack of talent is a disadvantage to you. Some might say that it was your mistake to enter the game at all and call you misguided, perhaps even blatantly stupid to your face, but personally, I'd hate to see you punished for it." Again I smirked. I confess that I was thoroughly amused.

The good Daroga only stared back at me, his features a blank canvas. "I hope you realize Darius and I only sat here this afternoon for your own entertainment." He, like Darius, was clearly annoyed.

"Mhmm," I mused as I took another sip of water. "And it cost you both over 500 francs. You should consider it a blessing from Allah that we're betting light today." As I stood behind my chair taking in the frustration of the other two, a knock fell upon the door. Instinctively I rolled my eyes and set my glass down as if to answer it, but I paused. Nadir watched my reaction carefully from across the table. After several moments and another knock from our distinguished guest, he rose to his feet and made for the door. "Do not be surprised, Erik," he said quietly. I watched after him, my mood quickly slipping.

"Of course you encouraged him to come," I muttered. Nadir simply looked back and nodded. After he turned back toward the door I gathered his money on the table, much to the horror of his servant, who then retreated from the room. In the moments of peace preceding Chagny's entrance, I contemplated the situation. Unfortunately for my once grand – if not disillusioned – scheme, I was beyond killing the boy. I had given Christine to him because she seemed to love him very dearly. Even in my worst state I wanted her happiness. Any overly aggressive actions on my part would only widow her and potentially send her down a path that led not only away from me, but also toward an uncertain and difficult future.

I retrieved my water glass from the table and took yet another sip. As I held the glass thoughtfully, my brow furrowed in thought. This all was a bit funny. Tragic, in its own way, but at the same time it was indeed a bit laughable. Yards off to my left I heard Nadir answer the door and greet our darling Comte. Courtesy demanded that I stand up straight and make some attempt to acknowledge our guest, but I could not possibly care. I simply turned my head to the left just enough to study Chagny. He removed his hat and black overcoat and gave them to Nadir. Raoul gave a quick, if slightly nervous smile as he watched Nadir turn away and hang his belongings. He then looked about the new surroundings as if to delay looking at me until the last possible second. When he finally cast his eyes upon me he gave a subtle nod and a quick, "Monsieur," before his eyes fell to the floor for a moment – only a moment.

"Comte," I greeted coldly, without moving. I felt his stare, as I feel anyone's stare. It was not damning or terribly hateful, but he always seemed to be studying me with a curious manner that either annoyed me or made me uneasy. I studied him in turn, taking note of his smart day suit and well-groomed hair. He represented his line well. By now Nadir had turned back to the two of us and watched as I returned my glass to the table. His mouth gaped slightly when he noticed the absence of his money. I stood squarely with my left hand behind my back as I watched Nadir fight with himself for a fleeting second.

"What happened to not taking from the less fortunate?" he demanded, half in a whisper.

"I reconsidered."

Poor Nadir. Why he put up with me, my ugliness, and my wretched attitude I do not know. I very much enjoyed the gentle torture I inflicted upon him, for it truly was becoming a game between the two of us. I daresay my satisfaction with myself showed, for I turned to Chagny with that familiar, haughty air, and demanded that we got on with the day's business.

Nadir gestured him to the closest chair, and we all took our seats to discuss whatever it was the Comte thought important enough to occupy my time. Before we started he made sure to thank me for agreeing to see him. "The mare is coming six years old, off the track now for approximately two years," Chagny explained as he gingerly offered me a photograph. Nadir passed it along to me and I studied it carefully.

"When was this taken?" I asked.

"Just before her final race. My brother and I bought her young and intended to race, but she did not prove to be profitable. We thought briefly about the hunt races for her, but her heart simply wasn't into running. That would be my brother, Philippe, to the left." I glanced up at Raoul for a moment, taking note that his voice trailed off with the mention of his brother. He eyes turned to the floor while I went back to studying the photograph, and it was painfully obvious that this was more than just a pleasure horse. She seemed to hold represent his brother, in a way.

The mare was well put together. When evaluating horses, we look at their conformation – their build. Good conformation in a horse helps ensure a horse that moves correctly across the ground. The angle of her shoulder, her hip, and the gentle slopes along her topline all represented a quality animal that no doubt was a beautiful mover. Her legs looked well, and her head was refined.

"And this little mare has brought you here, why?" I demanded.

"I intend to make her a lady's mount, but she's proved to be a bit excitable thus far in the training. I am beginning to doubt her suitability as a hack." His intended vagueness with the term "lady's mount" sat awkwardly with me. Everyone in the room knew whom the horse was for; why Chagny suddenly chose to be careful with his words was irritating.

"This is Christine's new mare, am I recalling this correctly?"

"Yes. Yes, she is intended for her," he answered unsteadily.

"You can say her name in my presence, Chagny," I assured him as I curbed my annoyance by counting the bills I had one off Nadir. "Nothing is going to jump out the wall at you."

Raoul paused before answering, "Well one can never be too sure." His tone was nearly playful; no doubt an attempt to break through the thick ice in the room.

Nevertheless, I shot a glare at him. "Do not come in here and insult me," I said coldly before turning back to the money. "Besides, I've not had the time to _redecorate_, as it were." I glanced up to both Nadir and Raoul to see fleeting smiles pull at one corner of their mouths. Nadir saw his money in my hand and instantly his smile was gone.

"She rides?" I asked in reference to Christine.

"Some," Raoul noted. "She's learning. Like most people she knows the basics. Probably not capable of handling a horse of this nature even if it were fully trained, but…as I said, she's learning."

"She's a quick study," I noted, once more evaluating the photograph. "This mare, what exactly are her troubles thus far, and what have you tried to accomplish with her?"

Raoul paused for several seconds to gather his thoughts. "Naturally she was broke enough for the races, and has had the better part of the last two years off."

"Off?"

"Hacked her a bit right after retirement, probably for about two months. I then decided that she needed some time in the pasture to mature before being retrained as a pleasure mount. I also considered breeding her as I very much like her build, but given her race record I could not justify that expense. I've honestly had little use for her at all until Christine took an interest in her. I think they'd make a handsome pair."

"Quite," I sighed. Once more I felt Raoul's stare upon me. I looked off to my left and remained silent for a moment as he continued.

"She's broke to walk, trot, canter, gallop, and jump. She…can be somewhat flighty in new surroundings and around new people. Lately I've had the grooms saddle her again and begin slowly bringing her back undersaddle," he explained.

"But not you yourself."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You haven't done any of this work lately yourself, have you?" I inquired.

Raoul paused once more and took a breath. "No. With my brother's passing and the recent activity sorting out his business affairs, I've not had the time. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I believe I could do better than most of them. I know the sort of handling a sensitive animal such as this one requires, and I fear she may not be getting that with the grooms I've asked to work with her."

I shook my head at this news. "That is your first mistake," I declared. "A more excitable horse needs a great deal of time, patience, and consistency that in all honesty come most easily with one competent trainer, not whatever groom has free time." Raoul nodded in agreement. I went on to explain that the techniques I had used that one evening on the Giovanni horse were nothing but simple submission exercises. If one can assume the role of leader in the eyes of the horse, than one is much more capable of asking that horse to submit to whatever it is being asked of him. Shooing the horse out in a circle around me puts the animal to work – a sort of reinforcement to prove my point. I am demanding that he stay away from me and when he demonstrates simple acts of submission such as lowing his head to the ground, licking his lips, etc, it means he is acknowledging my dominance in the "herd" and is willing to listen. At that point I may reward him by no longer forcing him about a circle and inviting him in. It can be explained in a far more in depth, complicated manner, but the principle revolves around basic horse behavior, the idea of dominance/submission, and the use of one's own body language to achieve it. Its potential application in training and daily handling of horses is endless and certainly rewarding.

All through my explanation Raoul was attentive and even dared so far as to take notes, but again I felt that damn curiosity in his gaze that quite honestly was driving me up the bloody wall. As I went on to explain more of my opinion in training regimens I looked up to find him blatantly staring at me whilst his pen sat idle in his hand. Having finally had enough I looked off to my right and drew a frustrated breath. "Have a good look now, Chagny, and get it over with," I seethed, turning back to him, glaring. Both Nadir and Raoul snapped to at my sudden outburst and looked to each other in a mix of surprise and nervousness before returning their attention to me. The nearly relaxed manner I had held earlier in the discussion was now entirely gone, replaced with that bitter, paranoid feeling I was so accustomed to.

Chagny made to speak, but must have thought better of it, for he said nothing. He and I stared at each other for some time. I tapped the photograph against my left index finger before handing it back down the line. "Do not come here and insult me and do not come here to study me like some specimen on a dissecting table," I demanded.

Nadir looked at me in horror, knowing full well were this was leading.

"I apologize."

When Raoul said those two words I was completely taken aback. My annoyance did not necessarily dissipate, but nor was I about to jump up and crush his throat as I was one to do months before. "There are several things you will come to find that I cannot stand, Chagny. Staring is one of the greatest. I also hate stupidity, apologies, and I loathe pity. What's more I have an even greater hatred of apologies or pity from stupid people. So do everyone in this flat a favor and simply refrain from doing it."

There was an awkward silence following that last declaration, but my point was well made. That frustration also made me uncomfortably aware that I had been sitting for nearly an hour now without moving my shoulder. As I did so in my chair our ever-observant Comte took note. "Actually, I was about to ask you how you were coping with your injuries," he stated. I did not answer initially, instead choosing to get up and retrieve the brandy decanter and glasses from the adjoining room, which offered me the chance to stretch and move about out of their view.

"I am managing perfectly well," I declared as I walked back into the room. In front of me off to my right I caught a glimpse of Nadir shaking his head and motioning to his right shoulder to Chagny. "Nadir, don't. That's despicable, don't do it," I said, setting the decanter and glasses down on the nearest table. At that very moment there was another knock upon the door and my head turned toward it in an instant. Nadir never entertained guests so it was not likely to be a friendly visit. "Monsieur le Comte!" yelled the voice from behind the door. Immediately my mind thought to Chagny and the possibility of it all being a trap. I looked to Raoul. "Yours?" I demanded. He appeared genuinely surprised as he stood and quickly made his way to the door. Meanwhile, Nadir gestured for me to escape into the adjoining room. From there I waited and listened.

It was one of Raoul's men. Chagny greeted him in surprise, but that was soon to be outdone by what I heard next.

"Christine?" The shock in Raoul's voice brought me out from around the corner, and I saw for myself the cause of his disbelief. She was here.

"Raoul?" she asked, equally dumbfounded.

"Christine?"

"Erik!" Her face blanched drastically when she caught a glimpse of me. Suddenly my tie felt incredibly tight around my neck. I watched as Raoul came to her side and steadied her. Christine looked between the two of us and then to Nadir, and finally back to me. Her eyes bore straight through me.

"What," she began, turning and clutching Raoul. "What is going on here?"

"Do not be troubled, Christine, please. This is simply a business meeting," her husband began.

She turned to him, stunned, as if she thought she was being lied to. "Business? How?" Christine then turned back and looked me up and down. Her face reflected a thousand questions, but nothing came. I felt quite sorry for her then; she was stuck in a whirl of confusion that was obviously swallowing her whole. Raoul ushered her to the nearest armchair and knelt beside her.

I followed and stood off to the side. She was here. Here in my residence, and I did not drag her behind me. No, she had stumbled upon me by mistake, searching no doubt for her husband. I heard the coachman, who had accompanied her up the stairs, explain to Nadir that she caught wind of Raoul's destination and had immediately set out to discover what was occurring. I then watched the man retreat down the stairs at Nadir's insistence, and turned to Christine. "No one has come to any harm, Christine, and I assure you no one will."

She closed her eyes at the sound of my voice. Moments passed in silence. "You left," she muttered. "You left without so much as a goodbye. My God, I thought I'd never see you again," she stammered. Her tone, despite the surprise she must have suffered, still managed to reflect a pure concern and mixed relief that was also apparent to me. I looked around the room then made my way across the room and leaned against the fireplace mantle.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

She then looked to me and stood up. Raoul slowly rose and stood behind her – his stance reflected his protective nature now that his wife was now actually present and presumably in danger. If only he knew I would rather kill myself than harm her. Christine took one small step toward me and stopped once more. "Erik."

I turned at her soft call and drew my left hand behind my back to compose myself. She seemed slightly more comfortable in my presence than I felt in hers. She had several days at the Chagny estate where she apparently sat at my bedside whilst I was unconscious. Thinking back to those days I felt somewhat ashamed of myself. But I stood across from her that afternoon trying to find some middle ground between the strong, mysterious, calculating persona of her Angel and the weakened idiot that I felt much closer to at the moment. She bit her lip and pause as she continued to study me, which oddly enough did not annoy me. "I never stopped caring."

"Please Christine, don't," I warned.

She glanced at my shoulder for what seemed like eternity. "I hope you're well."

"I am well enough, thank you," I stated quickly. I did not have the heart to tell her that the strength and range of motion in my right shoulder had been cut in half. I could not tell anyone that I could not sing until recently – not that I had the inclination to – because I could not hold a sustaining breath.

Christine returned to her seat and to Raoul. Awkward. This was all too awkward for anyone's liking. I could go on in more detail about this initial meeting, but in all honesty this account is far too long as it is. The four of us remained in that same, awkward silence for a great long time. Eventually words did come. Christine had come out of fear for Raoul, but also fear for me as well. She could not possibly fathom what would the two of us could manage to be in the same room together. Personally I was still feeling the same way. Looking back on it, I feel no different. It was unimaginable to everyone, and yet, it happened. When Raoul finally told her it was over a horse, she paused in disbelief. Her stunning features were stupefied. If anything I think she was perhaps a bit annoyed with him!

Finally the unimaginable came up – an invitation to see the horse myself. "Christine I do not think he would like to be bothered…" Raoul began, unsure if he should finish his sentence.

I looked to them both and stood up. "No, I think it would be best to leave it with today." I picked up the glasses and decanter, but when I turned to replace them in the adjoining room Christine quickly got up and grabbed my left arm. I stared at her hands and then at her face. She looked at me and loosened her grip.

"Perhaps it doesn't have to end this way, Erik."

"I feel it would be in everyone's best interests if it did." I then turned from her and made my way toward the other room.

"Then what is this?" she demanded. "What are we doing now?" I turned back to see that she had followed me half way across the room awaiting an answer. Raoul stood behind her. Christine continued to look directly at me. "If it is too painful tell me, and I shall walk away."

I said nothing.

**_Author's Note:  
Thank you so much for your continued interest and support! I've recently relocated for a new job and appreciate everyone's patience while I moved and got settled in. Please keep reviewing, because I'll keep writing. Thank you once again!_**


	13. Apologies

**Turn of the Tide: Apologies**

_Erik:_

It was an entire week from that awkward meeting until the next unfortunate encounter – this time, however, it was in letterform by Christine's own hand. I admit that I initially poured over the paper like an adolescent receiving first words from their crush, but after a day of heckling from my esteemed flat mate, I quickly dismissed its importance. In short, Nadir made no attempt to hide that he had read it from top to bottom.

"In the absence of any true detective work, you find it necessary to investigate my mail?" I demanded that afternoon. I was more annoyed than angry, which surprised even me.

"A letter, mysteriously addressed from a young ingénue to her stalker…what, you thought I would take no interest?" he toyed.

Casually I got up and poured myself some coffee. "Given the intriguing life you now lead, how could I have possibly underestimated your boredom?"

Nadir lifted his cup, implying he was in need of coffee as well. "I only read it to ensure that you weren't about to make a terrible mistake." That brigand! In response, I maturely poured the hot drink into his lap. "Damn it, Erik!" he shouted as he leapt from his armchair and began swatting at his trousers. "These were just cleaned!"

"Oops," I said innocently. I then leaned back against the fireplace mantel and sipped my coffee.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say your mask is on too tight," he snapped as he looked up from his useless attempts at removing the stains with his handkerchief.

"Judging by the damp condition of your trousers, I'd say that you missed a very important life lesson." If it were possible, Nadir's face turned a deeper shade of red as he stared daggers into me. I had to chuckle. Eventually the color in his face returned to some vestige of normalcy and we returned to the subject.

"So, are you going?" he asked.

"Going where?"

"To their estate, of course. As it asked you in the letter."

"Well," I began as I moved slowly toward the window. "I had considered going there in the middle of the night – one o'clock, if you need specifics – kidnapping her and running away to make her the star of some Hungarian opera, but then I thought…why not just go and have dinner. Perhaps look at a horse while I am on the property."

"That's a terribly normal choice of plans."

"Yes, but the first one is what _dreams_ are made of."

"Erik, be serious now for one moment," Nadir pleaded. His tone reflected his need to dispose of the pretense. "Are you prepared to talk about this?"

"Speak, man," I demanded. "God knows we're all dying at this very moment waiting for you to begin the discussion."

"She's invited you back into her life. I do not know why, and I will not pretend to agree with it, but…what do you intend to do about it?"

I stared blankly ahead through the window. "I do not know." There was a long silence as I pondered the situation. It was an unforeseen change in our circumstances – initially, I had rejected it, satisfied to retreat into a black hole and again close myself off from the world. Then I began to accept that perhaps being a part of her life could be somehow acceptable. Now I was agonizing over the course of action that would be best for everyone. Admittedly, this was not a talent of mine. "I made an offer on that gelding," I said suddenly, setting my coffee cup down on the nearest table and returning my stare to the bright sky outside the window.

"Which one?" Nadir inquired.

"The dark bay that was screaming itself into a fit that day before I left the Chagny estate."

I could feel Nadir's confused stare on my back. "What on earth are you going to do with a horse?"

"I read somewhere that you _ride_ the damned things," I declared as I turned about to glare momentarily at Nadir. "He was a pair horse, his driving partner died, and they have no use for a single at this moment. Nice animal; I'd hate to see him off to someplace horrible because he had no purpose for the time being, so I thought I'd pick him up."

"Compassion for animals, yet none for yourself," Nadir began.

"Oh here we go."

"No, I'm beyond happy that you're taking this horse in. You wouldn't want him to develop a disassociation from the rest of society or acquire a drug habit, would you?"

"Wait, we're not talking about the horse now are we?" I asked, the sarcasm dripping from my words.

Nadir stared on ahead of me, disapproving. "Perhaps you should attend dinner. It might knock some sense back into you."

"A shovel would have the same effect."

"Erik."

"Nadir." My patience was beginning to wane. I left the window and returned to the mantel, directly across from my worrisome Persian friend. "It is more than obvious that you do not approve of this invitation, yet you sit here and insist that I go. Does that not seem a bit contradictory to all the work you've tried to accomplish in this melodrama from Hell?"

"If she truly wants to have you there, and this isn't one of your clever tricks, this may be a perfect opportunity for you to show who you truly are."

"I pour coffee in your lap and take your money. Now, that could be because you deserved it and are a terrible poker player, or it could be because I'm a terrible human being."

"No. This whole thing could mean that someone is willing to take another chance on you as I have done."

I stared across to Nadir in fake disbelief. "Oh you're good. Very, very good. You really ought to put some consideration in authoring some cheap romance novels rather than just reading them."

His face wrinkled with displeasure. "Honestly, Erik. Then maybe you'll have more than one friend in this world. Though if I didn't know any better, I'd say that scares you."

It did scare me. Outwardly, I was content to lead him on, but he knew me better than that. Having people that were capable of reading me did nothing to set me at ease – my cold demeanor was one of the weapons in my arsenal, and having more than one annoyance able to predict me did nothing to comfort my paranoid nature. So there I sat across from Nadir, half-smiling in deception. "I suppose you should plan on attending the dinner as well, then. Yes, you're coming along so don't bother making faces. Come prepared to talk horses."

"I must confess," Nadir began. "I am a bit suspicious of a motive here, Erik. Honestly, you don't even eat without a motive."

My brow furrowed with displeasure behind the mask. "Right," I spat. "Because in that instance, my motive is to stay alive so that I may carry out my _other_ motives." I took several steps toward the window before turning back toward him. "What exactly are you worried about?"

"Nothing. I just would like to know if I should tell the Comte to guard his neck, that's all."

"I have much larger problems than your darling Comte."

"Such as?" Nadir inquired, his tone tinged with a bit of sarcasm.

"Taxes."

Nadir scoffed, and then paused for what seemed like an eternity. Quietly, he finally admitted, "I'm nearly relieved that you're asking me along."

"I decided that my jailor could not possibly stay home and miss the excitement."

That last remark did not seem to please him as much as the invitation. He rose and as he exited the room, he spat, "Consider yourself on probation."

I smirked and called after, "That's an improvement from being in jail then, is it not?"

It certainly was not. In all reality, I considered this probation period quickly evolved into its own unique form of Hell, in which Nadir hardly said anything to me at all. One might consider that a blessing to be cherished – for the first five hours or so I happily indulged myself in the silence that blanketed the entire flat. However, Nadir's brooding became painfully obvious, and increasingly aggravating. For five more days, his poor attitude hung over me like a black cloud. For the better part of my life I had dealt quite famously on my own with little human interaction, but his avoidance nearly drove me mad. Co-existing in silence with the one person I actually did not mind conversing with was, if anything, increasing my desire to commune as others normally would. In short, Nadir's logic was working perfectly. By the time the evening of the dinner came around, I was actually open to talking with anyone except Nadir. Hell, I even had a conversation with the library manager the night before.

The cab ride to the Chagny estate was as I had predicted – uncomfortably silent. My mind was leaping back and forth between the events of the last several months and the potential events of the evening. I was prepared to be civil, but more importantly, I was prepared to leave in a hurry. Absently I tugged at my cuffs and glanced to my right at Nadir. "You really ought to find yourself a lady. You don't want people to get the wrong idea about us," I taunted.

"Yes of course," he seethed. "I shall go retrieve two prostitutes straight away after dinner."

"No blondes, please. Having long, golden locks all over my clothing is hard to explain to the Mrs."

"What are you, ten years old?" he demanded, finally breaking his forward stare to glare at me.

"A very precocious five, actually." This conversation was annoying him beyond all comprehension, but it was better than arriving at the estate having had no conversation at all. It was certainly a more interesting and perhaps satisfying activity than sitting in silence as that gnawing feeling in my stomach continued to grow. I very much regretted the moment where the two-beat rhythm of the horse's trot came to an end, and we had officially arrived for the evening. Hypothetically speaking, if I had come on my own, intent on taking Christine far away from this confusing turn of events, I would have been perfectly cold and calm – confident in my meticulous plans and genius. It was the unpredictability of it all ahead that made me long for the comfort of a dark hole in another location.

"I see the reality of the evening has finally set in," Nadir declared as he noticed my silence.

"She's lost to me, Nadir," I admitted solemnly. At that moment, I needed him to understand that I was in full possession of my wits. That, unfortunately, was still terribly difficult.

"Yes she is."

"So, I have no agenda."

He gazed at me, somewhat apologetic. "I know."

"Do you?" I pressed.

"I was hoping you'd be able to prove that to me tonight." Nadir then replaced his gloves and exited the cab, and I did the same. We walked in silence across the drive, and were greeted at the entrance by one member of the household staff. I thought to myself that he must have been the lucky bastard to pull the short straw. We were led to the foyer where our hats and cloaks were taken from us. The house was not entirely appalling – I casually investigated the surrounding marble and other features of the room as we waited for our intrepid hosts to arrive. "It is a good thing you're going through with this, Erik," Nadir declared in a hushed tone as he, too, pondered over the room's décor. "Though in jest, I do admit I'm surprised you haven't tried to off yourself before this evening."

"It has not yet started, Nadir," I noted with my back to him. "You could shoot me."

"I am not going to shoot you."

"It'd be the kind thing to do."

"Be quiet before you get yourself in trouble," he demanded, as much as one can demand anything in a whisper.

I smirked as I fingered the stone accents. "You know, there is an inferior quality about these…"

"Erik." Nadir's plead went unheard, as it usually did.

"Really, I find it quite repugnant that stone of this nature be used for this sort of household."

"Erik."

I leaned in to examine something on the wall. "As an architect I'd be thoroughly mortified to live here."

"Then perhaps you'd do us the honor of repairing the flaws," declared a familiar, yet not terribly welcomed voice. Slowly my hand fell back to my side and stood erect. I half turned to find Chagny standing in the doorway of the adjoining parlor, holding Christine closely about the waist. He wore an annoyingly self-satisfied grin.

"Ah. Isn't this embarrassing," I admitted under my breath. My eyes fell to the floor briefly, before returning once again to the couple and resting on Christine's soft features. She gazed at me with a look that was difficult to place. It seemed to be a mix of uncertainty, relief, curiosity, perhaps a slight tinge of fear, but that disappeared after several moments of truce. Once again I felt her looking me up and down, as if to assure herself that I was indeed present. Poor girl, what had I done to her?

Squarely I stood, awaiting their next move from across the foyer. There was a slight dryness to my throat then as the seconds flew by. I caught myself with my eyes fixed on Christine. I thought of her words at Nadir's and smiled faintly. Lord knows she must have seen me, for her elegant lips did the same. As they did so, her entire figure seemed to relax some, as if she exhaled a good majority of the tension in the room. Raoul looked down to her for a moment before glancing once more to Nadir, then to myself. "Monsieur Khan, it is a pleasure to see you again sir. And Monsieur…?" The idiot wanted my surname. How darling. Why I did the following I am not yet quite certain.

"Rienne," I replied casually. Nadir shot me a baffled look, which I ignored. "Though I am quite sure we are all well aware of my first name should you feel obliged to dispense with the formalities."

"Well," he began. "Would the two of you care to join us? Dinner is recently prepared and awaits us on the table."

As we made our way to the dining room, Nadir whispered to me, "Rienne?"

"Later," I replied.

Dinner was well enough without the reluctant conversation and occasional stares from the household staff serving us. I ignored their nervous looks and hesitant movements, though Nadir, Christine, and Raoul certainly did not. Admittedly, each one pained my spirit ever so slightly. Here I was at dinner with the three people who seemed somewhat accepting of me – two for certain, in any case – and I had nearly relaxed into some vestige of normalcy. However, the cautiousness of the servants only reminded me how I was seen to others. If I was not quiet before, I grew increasingly so over the course of the meal. The discussion could not move along any faster if I had prodded it with a hot iron – it constantly revolved around Nadir's damned book club or some insignificant business matters. Raoul and Nadir did the majority of the talking while Christine and I sat diagonally from each other, relatively silent. Something was eating me from within, and the prolonged exposure to the unwanted stares was urging me to remove myself from the table. I sat in my own world, staring into the tablecloth while Nadir and Raoul continued on with their own conversation. Finally I snapped out of the stupor and rose from the table. "Terribly sorry," I interrupted as I looked to Christine. "Might I have a word with you?" Raoul's eyes shot from me to Christine, then to Nadir. Caution oozed from his very being; his unspoken words stung of distrust. "Just in the adjoining room," I said, hoping to put them at ease. Nadir, under the weight of Raoul's stare, slowly looked up to me. I glanced to him in assurance. He then nodded to Raoul, who nodded ever so briefly in return. The poor boy's breathing seemed to increase as he, too, rose from the table when I made my way around to Christine.

Like any other polished gentleman, I helped Christine from her chair and offered her my arm. I whisked her into the next room and pulled the door to. When I turned back to Christine, I found her standing no more than four feet away, looking up to me with eyes I could not read. I paused before I could say anything; my heart was racing, and I felt the need to take a slow breath or two to calm myself. She stood steadfast as she did so many months ago in that Hell that I had created for all of us. This time, however, her face was not that of the marionette she had become. Her features were soft and concerned – expectant to hear what I had to say. There was a black cloud hanging over the lot of us, and if anything were to happen, it had to clear.

"I never said that I was sorry," I began. Christine furrowed her brow. I straightened up from the door and took a step toward her. "That day you found us at Nadir's flat; you were angry because I had left without a goodbye. I also left without saying that I was sorry."

She shook her head and mouthed the word "no." By now I could see her choking back a tear. "Erik, you do not have to - "

"I am so very sorry, Christine." She only nodded, as she was now incapable of speaking. I, too, was nearing tears, and when she stepped toward me, gently placed a hand on my left shoulder, and kissed me delicately, I confess I could barely hold back. Again she showed me no fear, no pity. Only compassion. After that heavenly touch of her lips to my skin, she placed a hand on my chest. To maintain what little composure I had left, I strode across the room and sat – ironically enough – at the abandoned piano bench. Christine came to my side a moment later, and there we remained in silence for several minutes in our mutual acceptance. Any tears that were shed had been freshly dried when Raoul and Nadir came in together to find us by the piano. I could tell by their poster and the glances they shot at each other that they were curious, if not a bit confused. Casually, I lifted the dust cover off the keys and placed a C chord with my right hand. I then looked up from Christine to Raoul and declared, "Your piano is hideously out of tune."


End file.
